You Need To Trust Me
by ozhawk
Summary: Soulmates fic where Jemma Simmons finds an unlikely source of aid when captured by HYDRA. Rumlow is NOT a bad guy in this fic.
1. You Need To Trust Me

**You Need To Trust Me**

_Jemma/Brock Rumlow_

BioCross

**Theme song:**

**Busby Marou – I'll Get You Out Of Here**

_I'm going to die. I don't want to die_. Jemma huddled on the floor of the van, arms wrapped around her head, flinching away from contact with the boots of the men seated at the sides.

She'd been in town picking up supplies, had intended to cook a nice dinner for the team to celebrate Hunter and Bobbi's second engagement. And then, outside the market putting the groceries in the car, a sweet-smelling cloth was suddenly clamped to her face and the world went black.

She woke up on the floor of a moving vehicle, her hands zip-tied together in front of her. And since they hadn't bothered to hood or blindfold her, and the men in there with her hadn't got their faces covered, they clearly had no intention of letting her live. She huddled into a tighter ball and tried not to sob.

"It's the wrong fucking one!" the man they dragged her before shouted at his men in a thick German accent. "You got the wrong woman – you incompetent idiots!" He gestured to someone across the room, and another man came striding towards them. Jemma's eyes widened with terror. She knew that face, the black hair and even darker eyes, the swarthy good looks. She'd seen Brock Rumlow around S.H.I.E.L.D. before HYDRAgate. The handsome STRIKE commander had even caught her looking once and winked at her flirtatiously before she blushed and fled.

"Crossbones, they got the wrong one. Dispose of her."

"Sir," Rumlow nodded, and his massive hand clamped around Jemma's upper arm, yanking her to her feet.

"Please, at least kill me quickly," was all Jemma could make herself whimper as he hauled her towards the door.

He froze for the barest instant, looking down at her. Then he turned his head and spoke to the German. "She's pretty enough to suit my tastes, sir. Mind if I have a little fun with her first?"

The German laughed. "Take your time."

Jemma almost hyperventilated as Rumlow dragged her out of the room, down a seemingly endless series of corridors and finally shoved her into a small room, kicking the door shut behind them. There was a bed there, and he pushed her down on it, coming down on top of her to cover her with his body. His lips closed over hers before she could scream. She fought, trying to bite him, but it was utterly hopeless; he was far stronger than her, pinning her down, grabbing both her wrists in one big hand and dragging them over her head.

And then, much to her everlasting astonishment, he pulled back and whispered in her ear; "Shh. You need to trust me. I'll get you out of here."

Brock watched as his soulmate's tear-filled eyes went wide with shock. He'd hated frightening her like that, but he knew only too well that every inch of this place outside his own quarters was under tight surveillance. What a fucking awful time to meet her; but considering the words that had been written on his ass for twenty-seven years, since he was a green military recruit, he'd known it wouldn't exactly be under ideal circumstances.

"I don't want you. You're a traitor," she hissed back softly, obviously taking her cue from his quietness.

"I'm Fury's top man in HYDRA," he breathed in her ear, stroking her hair back from her tear-damp cheeks. "Or I was. You just trashed that, sweetheart, because I'm gonna have to blow my cover to get you to safety."

Jemma hardly dared to breathe. _Could it be true?_ But – what choice did she have but to trust him? She looked up into his midnight eyes. He was older than her, mid-forties at the least, but still extraordinarily good-looking. And _her_ soulmate. Surely he couldn't be _all_ bad. "What do you need me to do?" she whispered at last.

"I'm sorry. But we need to make it sound and look good. I'm not going to rape you, but I'm going to tear your clothes up and put a bruise or two on you. Here," he lifted her hand, pressed her nails into his stubbled cheek. "See if you can raise some blood."

He didn't hit her, but instead used pressure and pinches of his rough fingers to put a few strategic bruises on her pale skin, his eyes agonised, gently kissing each mark after it formed and whispering how sorry he was, that he'd never hurt her again. He asked her to hit him instead, use the flat of her hand to create the sound of heavy blows striking flesh, told her to scream and beg and cry while he growled obscenities.

It was ugly and awful and _insanely_ arousing. In the middle of it all Jemma couldn't quite help herself from fisting her hands in his dark hair and dragging him down for a proper kiss, deep and hungry.

The smile she got when he lifted his head was breathtaking. "Later, beautiful," he whispered, before ripping her blouse half-off with a loud snarl. His breath stuttered as he looked at her breasts, and their eyes met in silent acknowledgement that next time he did this, the outcome would be very different.

Brock opened a small wound in his own leg and smeared blood over her, whispering apologies, promising that he was clean, before bandaging the wound and covering it. An hour or so after it all began – after Jemma had screamed herself almost hoarse – he pressed his fingers against her throat, hating himself even more as her eyes widened with shocked betrayal before she fell unconscious.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Brock lifted Jemma's limp body in his arms, pressing a tender kiss to her bruised lips. "But if you don't already look dead, I'll be asked to share. And I'd kill any other man who so much as laid a finger on you."

He was watching the mushroom cloud of the explosion boil up in the rear-view mirror when Jemma stirred in the seat beside him.

**PHEW.**

**Dear God Brock Rumlow is sexy. He could put a few bruises (the right kind of bruises, that is) on me ANY TIME.**

**And yes, considering the events of CA:TWS it's HIGHLY unlikely that he's Fury's man in HYDRA, but with Fury, who the hell knows? Nothing's impossible…**

**(… apparently Rumlow's going to be a major bad guy in Captain America: Civil War, though. Is it bad that I know I'll spend the whole movie drooling over a villain?)**

**YES there is another chapter to this in the works. I'm posting this now because Rumlow needs more love as a character ;)**


	2. Trust Me Again

**Chapter Two – Trust Me Again**

_Theme song:_

_The Rolling Stones- Gimme Shelter_

Rumlow looked across at Jemma as she stirred. "Hey," he said softly.

Hazel eyes blinked open, looked across at him blearily. The way she stiffened and shrank away from him tore at his heart.

"Jemma. You're safe. We're out of the facility, no one is following us."

"You – what did you _do_?" She was suddenly terrified of him, this dark, muscled man with the rough stubble and the intense eyes. What did she really know about him, after all?

_You know he could have raped you and no one would have lifted a finger to stop him,_ a cool, collected part of her brain pointed out, even as she started to panic, reaching for the door handle.

"Jemma, don't!" he saw her hand move from the corner of his eye, realised what she planned, slammed the brakes on. "Don't, you'll hurt yourself!" he lunged across the car, grabbing her wrists. "Look at me. _Look_ at me."

She was fighting not to hyperventilate. It had all been just _too much_, too much to cope with, terror and panic at first, only made worse when she thought he was going to rape and kill her, then a wild, desperate hope when she realised he was her soulmate and he promised to get her out – the crazy, adrenaline-fuelled arousal as he touched her – and she could still remember the sick feeling of betrayal as his hand went to her throat in the knockout grip.

She couldn't see anything _but_ him as he leaned over her, his dark eyes boring into hers.

"I had to knock you out, Jemma, because if you'd looked even remotely alive I'd have been forced to share you around the other men."

_Oh well that really helped_, finding out that she'd narrowly escaped a HYDRA gang-rape. Her breathing sped up again, and he leaned down and grasped her wrists, firm but not brutal.

"Jemma, you need to stay calm. I'm going to get us somewhere safe but you need to trust me."

"I want to go home," was all she could manage to get out. She wanted her friends, wanted Skye's warm embrace, Fitz's gentle worry, Coulson's steady calm and May's aloof but fierce protectiveness. Bobbi's deadly calm and Hunter's smartass remarks. Even Mack's quiet wariness.

"I know, but if I rock up with you looking as you do now – and before I've contacted Fury – I'll be shot on sight." It was a slightly rueful grin. "I might not be Enemy Number One but I'm definitely on their shit list."

Jemma looked down at herself. Her own clothes were long gone, of course: she was wearing a black T-shirt that had to be Rumlow's, too big on her small frame, it really only fell to just below her groin, and she had nothing on beneath it. The blood and bruises on her legs stood out sharply against her pale skin. One of the marks was very clearly a bite mark. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered telling him to bite harder, unable to suppress the moan of pleasure as his strong white teeth sank into the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

From the way he was looking at her, she suspected Brock was remembering too. His firm lips parted and she heard him suck in a quick breath of air.

"How do I know I can trust you?" she gasped out, suspecting that if she didn't speak he was probably going to be kissing her again in a moment. And she very much doubted that she had the will to even _try_ and stop him.

That beautiful, firm mouth twisted. "Because I just killed over eighty people to get you out alive."

"_What!_" her eyes flew wide.

Rumlow let go of her wrists, reached across and opened the car door. "Look." He gestured back, behind the car.

She twisted, peered out of the door back along the road. Saw the huge black smoke cloud, probably only a couple of miles distant, the flames still belching sootily beneath it.

"Oh my God. We should go back, see if anyone needs help…"

"Jemma!" he grabbed her arm, yanked her back into the car as she tried to scramble out and slammed the door. "If we go back we'll both _die_! I was caught on surveillance cameras – which are _live-streamed_ to other facilities – carrying out your 'dead body' to dispose of, two minutes before the first explosion went off. It won't take HYDRA long to figure out I didn't get caught in the blast radius and there's no sign of your body. We probably have less than twenty minutes to get clear before choppers full of very angry men with lots of guns turn up and start looking for us _both_."

He stared at her until she stilled, unable to deny the truth of his words. And then he let go of her arm and reached for her seatbelt, pulling it across her body and clicking it into the socket.

"Don't grieve for them, Jemma," Rumlow said quietly, sitting back down in the driver's seat and starting the engine. "Every man – and woman – in that facility was responsible for dozens of deaths, if not hundreds. They'd have killed you without a second thought. Do you know what was supposed to happen there?"

She shook her head numbly, staring at his profile. He had very deep-set eyes, a nose that had clearly been broken at least once. A hard jaw shadowed with dark stubble. He didn't look at her, staring instead intently at the deserted road as he mashed his foot to the gas pedal, getting them out of there at maximum speed.

"I only found out this morning, but there was a kidnap set up to take your friend Daisy."

"Skye," Jemma corrected instinctively.

"Whatever you want to call her. The girl who makes the ground shake. She was to be brought in for _experimental treatments_. I very much doubt I'd have been able to get her out alive, they certainly wouldn't have thrown her to me like a bone to a faithful dog as they did you when Dr. Gunther realised you were the wrong woman."

"I said I'd do the grocery run instead of Skye today because I wanted to pick up some special things," Jemma realised. "It was her turn…"

"And how did they know that, eh? You lot have got complacent, got into a routine. You shouldn't even be shopping in the same damn _town_ on a regular basis, never mind in the same grocery store on a fucking roster system!"

"I think I'm going to be sick," Jemma said in a small voice, and he swore, slammed on the brakes again and swerved the car off the road into a small thicket of trees. She managed to stagger out of the car and fell to her knees, retching helplessly. After a moment she felt a surprisingly gentle touch at the back of her neck and realised he was gathering her hair back, holding it off her face.

"Sshh," Rumlow knelt behind his soulmate, holding her hair with one hand, the other slipping around her middle, bracing against her ribs. She leaned against him and he could feel that she was fighting not to break into hysterical sobs.

"Sshh now. You've been real brave, Jemma, but it's not over…" the thrumming of rotor blades made him look up, and he let out a hiss of breath as a black helicopter passed directly overhead.

"_Fuck_!" he looked at his watch. They were faster than he'd hoped; indeed counted on. He'd hoped to get to the next town and lose themselves among the populace. "In the car, Jemma, _now_!" They had maybe five minutes before the chopper returned, or more came, sweeping the countryside.

Jemma obeyed, white-faced and shaking, coming to the sudden realisation that both their lives depended on his skills now. No matter what she thought of him, no matter how much he frightened her – she had no choice now but to trust him with her life.

Again.


	3. Stay With Me

**Chapter Three – Stay With Me**

_Sam Smith – Stay With Me_

Rumlow drove fast, pushing the car as fast as he dared, keeping an eye on the sky. Jemma expected him to stop when they drove into a small town, but he didn't, just drove right on through and joined a bigger road, where at least there was some traffic.

"Won't they track the car?" Jemma asked hesitantly, after they'd been driving in silence for a few minutes. She had no idea where they were, she realised, looking at the road before them and the complete lack of road signs. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out drugged on the floor of that van, but she'd spent at least thirty minutes huddled on the floor awake. She looked at the sky, tried to guess the time. Late afternoon, even early evening. She thought they'd been about an hour in Rumlow's room, which by her best guess meant – three to four hours' drive from the Playground. "Where are we going? Indeed, where are we now?"

He glanced sideways at her, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a smile. "Yes, I daresay they'll track the car, but not just yet. They'll have to work out I took it first, and it's a personal vehicle belonging to one of the facility's staffers. I hotwired it." She followed his gesturing hand down, saw the stripped wires dangling below the steering column. "And right now, we're heading in the opposite direction to where I plan to go."

"You still didn't tell me where we are or where we're going," she pointed out.

"Thought you were a scientist, not an interrogator? We're not far from Asheville, if you must know. I'm planning to ditch this car in the long-term lot at the airport, steal another one and move on. Find you some clothes somewhere and then a safe place to hole up for the night, get a burner phone, call Fury and have him convince Coulson not to order me shot on sight. Once I've done that, we'll double back and I'll take you home."

"Do you have any money?" Jemma asked after a moment of thought.

"Couple hundred bucks. I have a safety deposit box in Knoxville, though. We can hit that tomorrow morning if I don't get hold of Fury tonight and we have to stay off the grid for a while."

"I could go back on my own…"

He gave her one long, dark look. "Yes. You could. But I don't want you to. You're my soulmate, Jemma, in case you'd forgotten. You might not like me, you might not trust me – and if you ask, I'll let you go, because of both those things. I'm hoping you'll give me a chance, though. That you'll stay with me."

For several long minutes she said nothing, just stared at the road, at the cars around them, tail-lights starting to come on in the gathering dusk.

"I need to call Coulson. Let him know I'm safe."

"We can do that," Rumlow said, his voice a soft rumble, and he glanced across at her again. She wasn't looking at him, though, was looking out of the window, and after a moment he looked ahead at the road again, his hands tightening on the wheel.

He found a shopping mall on the outskirts of Asheville, decided to make a stop there before hitting the airport to switch cars. It was tempting to steal another car there, but it might be too quickly missed. Instead he parked in a dark corner of the lot and turned to Jemma.

"I need you to stay in the car, or we'll get picked up by mall security," he gestured apologetically at her bare, bruised and bloodied legs.

"It's all right." She actually smiled at him, and he felt his heart turn over in his chest.

"What do you need? Whatever it is, I'll get it." He'd get her the moon on a damn silver platter if she'd only smile at him like that again.

Jemma thought quickly. _Essentials. Right_. "Toothbrush and toothpaste. Some trousers – jeans, maybe, just casual. Underwear." She blushed slightly. "Shoes. I'm a size six."

"Dainty little feet," he murmured softly. "All right." He shifted, drew his gun, put it into her hand. "You keep this."

"What? No!" she tried to hand it back, but he pressed firmly.

"Jemma. Keep it. If anyone but me approaches the car, fire a shot. It will draw police; you can tell them you've been kidnapped and one way or another Coulson will have you safe before midnight, all right?"

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "But what about you?"

He shrugged. "I'm more worried about you. I don't like leaving you alone and I'm certainly not leaving you unarmed. You do know how to use it, don't you?"

"Yes, I know how to use it, I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!" she huffed.

"Good. One never quite knows with you tech boffin types," he teased gently.

"Hmph." She expertly ejected the cartridge, checked the slide, slotted the cartridge back in and chambered a round. "I may not be able to shoot the legs off a gnat at a thousand yards but I can handle myself, thank you."

"Good." He reached for the door handle, stopped at her soft whisper.

"Brock?"

It was the first time she'd called him by name, and it sent a pleasurable shiver up his spine. "Yeah?"

"Hurry back."

He thought about kissing her, realised it would probably not be wise right now, and merely nodded. He was well inside the mall before he realised that she couldn't have eaten anything since breakfast, and he had no idea what she would like. In the end he grabbed a selection of things. He had to guess at her underwear size too. He'd seen her naked and couldn't get the damn vision out of his head, but he'd never bought lingerie for a woman and had no idea what sizes meant. In the end a kindly shop assistant took pity on the bemused, handsome man staring in complete confusion at a rack of bras and offered to help.

"Uh, just wanted to buy something pretty for my girlfriend." Christ, he was blushing, he hadn't blushed in about twenty years. "My soulmate's a lot younger than me," he confessed to the smiling, older woman. "I don't want to buy her anything too sexy, you know. Just something pretty."

The woman smiled, thinking that the girl might be a lot younger than her soulmate but she was lucky to have such an attractive, thoughtful older man. "Why don't you have a look round, see if you can – subtly! – point out a young lady about your soulmate's size, and I'll see if I can guess her size?"

He gratefully accepted the offer, gestured to a slender blonde browsing nearby. "About her size, but maybe a couple of inches shorter."

The assistant kindly guided him to choose a couple of pretty sets and bagged them for him. It took most of the money he had left after getting the other things he needed and Jemma had asked for, but Brock didn't give a shit. He could get more money. That was the least of his worries. He casually picked the pocket of a fat guy walking back to his car with his wife, both of them with their arms full of packages, came up with a billfold full of cash. That'd last them for a couple of days.

He approached the car carefully, from the front, giving Jemma time to see him coming. Realised it was pointless when he saw that she'd fallen asleep in the front seat, his gun on the floor between her feet. He shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. Well, she was no field agent, that was for sure – but between one thing and another she'd had a hell of a day.

Jemma woke with a small scream as Rumlow touched her leg. He had the gun in hand already, she saw as she bent to scrabble frantically for it, tucking it back into the concealed holster in his jacket with a grin.

"Remind me never to leave you on watch."

She folded her arms sheepishly and stared out of the window as he tinkered with wires to restart the engine. And then he dumped a paper bag in her lap.

"Here. I didn't know what you would like. I thought – well, there's turkey in it, but I suppose you could pick it out if you're vegetarian…"

She stared at him for a moment, and then opened the bag slowly to find a bottle of water and a thick sub sandwich, wholewheat, stuffed with turkey and fresh salad.

Any other man would, when faced with the probable options of the food court, have probably brought her something deep-fried and greasy, that would have made her jumpy stomach rebel. But Brock had brought her _this_, this beautiful, healthy, delicious-looking sandwich…

_Oh dear, I think I'm already falling in love with him._


	4. Don't Go

**Chapter Four – Don't Go**

_Goo Goo Dolls - Iris_

She'd finished her sandwich, and the bottle of water, by the time they pulled into the airport parking lot.

"Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes," Rumlow told her quietly, and she nodded, content to wait and trust him.

It was less than five minutes later that he was pulling up in another stolen car, this one a nondescript grey sedan.

"Sorry it took me so long," he muttered, opening the passenger door to let her out. "First one I picked had a fucking empty fuel tank."

That made Jemma smile. So he wasn't infallible. Although stealing two cars in five minutes was pretty good. She stood, letting out a slight hiss of breath as her bruised body protested the movement.

"Are you all right?" his thick arm slid around her waist, supporting her.

"Yes, just a bit sore," she said, and she was tired enough that her brain-to-mouth filter failed. "Knackered, actually. Like after really good sex."

He stilled, his arm tightening around her.

"Not that we had sex! Oh, shit."

"No," his voice was a low, husky rumble. "We didn't." He didn't say anything else, just guided her to the other car and helped her into the back seat, went back to retrieve the bags of shopping.

"Why do you want me to sit in the back?" Jemma asked in a small voice as her settled into the driver's seat.

He glanced in the rearview mirror, met her eyes. "Two reasons. First, we've got a long drive ahead and you're already tired. Lay down and get some rest."

"And the second reason?"

"There's clothes for you in those bags down in the footwell. You might like to put some of them on."

_Oh_. Jemma looked down, reached for the bags. She was revolting, dirty and with dried blood on her legs, but he was right. Clothes would be better, especially if they got picked up in a routine traffic stop or something.

"There's two burner phones in one of the bags. You can use one of them to call Coulson."

"What do you want me to say to him?"

His eyes met hers again in the mirror. "Whatever you want, Jemma. I'm not kidnapping you, you're not a prisoner here. Tell him anything you like, but I wouldn't mention my name if I was you, not yet, because he'll probably have hysterics."

He wasn't wrong about that. Jemma wriggled into the pair of jeans she found in one of the bags, not bothering with underwear. That could wait until after a shower. She thought for a moment that Rumlow was watching her in the mirror, but every time she checked his eyes were on the road.

_Get a grip, Jemma. He doesn't want to look at you right now anyway, you're a mess._

Her fingers closed over the hard, familiar shape of a phone in one of the bags and she pulled it out. "Does it matter which phone I use?"

"No. I'll use the other one to contact Fury, but not yet. Make the call."

"Lola's Laundromat," it was Skye who answered the phone, "how may I help you?"

"Skye, it's Jemma."

Skye's shriek nearly pierced her eardrum. She held the phone away from her ear for a minute. "Stop that, Skye, I'm fine."

"Where the hell are you, what happened? You didn't come back and Lance and Bobbi went out to find you and there was just no sign, the car was unlocked…"

"I got kidnapped and then rescued," Jemma gabbled, "by a S.H.I.E.L.D. mole inside HYDRA who's turned out to be my soulmate."

There was an ominous silence, and then Skye said carefully; "Are you alone?"

"No."

"Would this have anything to do with a rather large explosion reported near Charlotte a few hours ago?"

"That was us escaping," Jemma sighed. "Is Phil there, Skye?"

"Not at the moment, no, he's out looking for you. Jemma, you know I'm hacked into some HYDRA channels – there's been a lot of chatter about, um, a certain person who's suspected of being the one behind the bombing…"

_Oh, shit_. "Skye, he's not what you think. I'm safe, I promise. But HYDRA knew _we_ had a routine. The ambush was set up to take _you_, not me. You guys need to pull back, examine our security. B – _my soulmate_, will bring me back when it's safe."

Skye was silent, though Jemma could hear typing. "Stop trying to track this call, Skye, you've got bigger things to worry about right now."

"I'm not tracking, I'm messaging the others to tell them to get their butts back here because you're safe," Skye said, but Jemma could hear the lie in her voice.

"Remember the safe words system we set up? Where we have two each, a real one and an I'm-being-coerced one?"

"Ye-es," Skye said.

"Geranium."

"All right," Skye said with a resigned sigh. "What's your plan?"

"Please don't tell Phil that you know who my soulmate is yet? He needs to contact Fury. Hey!" Jemma protested as Brock reached back and plucked the phone from her hand.

"Skye, is it?" he rumbled. "For God's sake, don't mention my name to Coulson. He'll go off his rocker. Jemma's safe with me, I promise."

Skye's voice was quick and intense in his ear. "I swear, Rumlow, if you put so much as a bruise on her, I will make you spend the rest of a very short life regretting it!"

Rumlow winced, thinking about the bruises that already marked Jemma's delicate skin. "She's safe with me," he said, ending the call abruptly. And then he pulled the battery out of the phone, wound down the window and tossed out first the phone, then a couple of minutes later the battery.

Jemma didn't protest. Skye might have had enough time to get a fix on the phone, but by the time even the quinjet could get there they would be long gone, just another anonymous car eastbound on the busy interstate. She hoped they wouldn't waste the time. Not after she'd given Skye her 'real' safe word.

Rumlow glanced in the rearview mirror again. Jemma's eyes were drifting closed, and after a few minutes, she relaxed down onto the backseat and curled up, sound asleep.

He took the next exit off the interstate and headed north. _Time to change direction_.

Jemma woke as he lifted her out of the car, squeaked and instinctively started to struggle.

"Jemma, it's me. I'm carrying you inside, the ground's rough and you have no shoes on."

"What? Where are we?" she yelped. It was utterly dark, she couldn't see a thing. There should be lights – _shouldn't there_? "I thought we were going to a motel or something?"

"I never said that. Wouldn't be safe, they all have surveillance cameras and shit these days. This is a safehouse. Used to belong to a STRIKE commando."

"Used to?" Jemma picked up on the past tense.

"He was a traitor. I made damn sure he died in the Triskelion. Far as I know I'm the only one who knew he owned this place; I was his commander in S.H.I.E.L.D. as well as HYDRA. It's as off the books as you can get."

He was carrying her easily, surefooted on what she could tell was bumpy, uneven ground.

"How the hell are you not tripping on this surface? How can you even _see_? It's pitch black!"

His stride faltered at that, and she felt him heave a sigh. "HYDRA like to enhance their field commanders," he said quietly after a moment, moving on again.

_Oh dear God he's a super-soldier_. "Centipede?" Jemma asked timidly after a moment.

"No." It was a curt, flat denial. And then he set her on her feet, taking her hand and pressing it against a flat, wooden surface when she wobbled. "Stand there a moment while I get the door."

He moved away, and the loss of his warm body against hers made Jemma realise how cold it was. The night air was frosty, the promise of snow in it, and she was wearing only a T-shirt and jeans, her feet bare. She heard a door creak, somewhere to her right.

"Power's off," Rumlow said in her ear, and she barely suppressed a squeak of surprise. "Come, I'll take you inside."

He folded his hand around hers, not missing how cold her fingers felt, and tugged gently. She followed him – _what choice did she have?_ – and he led her inside.

"It's not much." Rumlow could see quite well in the dark, and he winced at the crude, rustic interior of the cabin. "Pretty much just a hunting cabin. But it's safe and no one will look for us here." Gently he led her to the battered couch. "Sit down, Jemma. I'll get the power on, bring our stuff in."

She felt the couch behind her legs, sat down ungracefully when it was lower than she expected. Heard him move away, though his boots made little sound on the rough wooden floor she could feel beneath her feet.

_My soulmate is a possibly-good, possibly-bad, very dangerous super-soldier, and I am trapped with him in the middle of God only knows where._

_How the hell is this my life?_

It felt like an eternity – but was probably about ten minutes – before he returned, closing the door behind him and pressing a switch. Light suddenly flooded the room from a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling and Jemma had to squint, suddenly blinded.

"Sorry," Rumlow murmured, realising guiltily that he should have warned her to shield her eyes. _Damn it, nothing's going to go right for me, is it? _

"It's all right." Everything was slowly coming into focus as Jemma's dazzled vision cleared. She looked around, realising he'd been right about the rough surroundings. The cabin was tiny, one main room with the battered couch and a tiny kitchenette, a door leading through to what was obviously a bedroom as she could glimpse the edge of a bed.

And that was pretty much it.

"Hot water's gas-powered and the tank was full, I switched it on. Should be hot enough for a shower in about twenty minutes."

"Oh God, a hot shower," she said longingly. A smile quirked his mouth.

"Soon, Jemma." He dumped a stack of shopping bags on the kitchen counter, pawed through them briefly. "Here's the rest of the things I got for you." He checked the tiny pantry cupboard. "We've enough food for a few days, with the fresh stuff I got. I could hunt, too."

"Surely we won't have to be here that long?"

His face burned; he kept it turned away from her. _You fucking idiot, Brock, she doesn't want to be trapped here playing Little Red Riding Hood to your big bad wolf_.

"Hopefully not. I sent a message to Fury before we lost phone signal. I'll go out tomorrow, see if I can pick up a response."

"No phone signal? Where the hell are we?" Jemma said disbelievingly.

"Not that far off the Blue Ridge Parkway, in the Pisgah National Forest."

She had to close her eyes and think, trying to imagine it on the map. _Still a long way from the Playground_, she realised dimly. Well, not _that_ far. Maybe two hundred miles?

"I'll show you on a map tomorrow," Brock promised, seeing her doubtful, concerned expression. He checked the small refrigerator: it was cooling quickly, so he put the few things he'd bought that would be best kept cold in it, stashed the rest in the pantry. "Are you thirsty?"

"Yes," she stood, came towards him, and he had to suck in his breath, because it was the first time he'd really seen her move. Every other time he'd been dragging her or carrying her, and God, _look_ at her, she was so beautiful, her slim hips rolling lightly as she walked, graceful as a dancer. He shoved his groin hastily against the kitchen counter to conceal his instant arousal.

"Please tell me there's teabags here somewhere? I could kill for a cup of tea," Jemma said wistfully.

Brock had to swallow twice to clear his throat. "Try in that cupboard," he gestured, reaching for the kettle, letting the water run from the tap for a minute before filling it.

"Ah!" Jemma made a sound of satisfaction as she found a box of English Breakfast. "Well, it's not Yorkshire Tea, but it'll do."

"Long life milk in the pantry," he muttered, concentrating on the kettle as though his life depended on it. That little satisfied, happy humming sound she'd made in her throat…

… he had to get out of here or he was going to do something disgraceful and rough and she'd hate him forever.

"I'm gonna go check round the place. Make sure we're secure." He grabbed up his jacket from where he'd dumped it, keeping his back to her.

"Brock!"

He turned his head only as he opened the door. "What is it?"

She stood in the middle of the tiny kitchenette, a vision of beauty to him despite the scruffy clothes, the black bruise he'd put on her cheek, her wildly tangled hair. She was twisting her hands together, staring at him from eyes like a startled fawn, they were so wide and innocent.

And then she damn nearly broke him when she whispered;

"Don't go."


	5. Too Close

**Chapter Five – Too Close**

_Dum Dums – Can't Get You Out Of My Thoughts _

"I have to. Have your tea, Jemma. Take a shower and get some rest." Rumlow nodded sharply and left, shutting the door rather more firmly than was necessary. He had to stand still for a moment, breathing deeply, until the rush of blood to his nether regions settled and he was able to walk. _Too close. That was too close._

_He doesn't want me_. Jemma shut her eyes with humiliation. She'd thought – well, she'd thought that was a flare of arousal in his eyes as she walked across the room towards him, and the way his lips parted had made her remember how he'd tasted when they kissed, earlier. He was so gorgeous, those black eyes, hard, stubbled jaw, tight black T-shirt outlining every defined muscle as he shrugged his jacket off. She couldn't stop thinking about him, wanting those big hands on her body, wanting him to use his strength against her again, but this time to pleasure and tantalise her instead of the fake brutality he'd used on her earlier.

_Though a little bit of brutality wouldn't go amiss…_

The whistle and click of the kettle boiling snapped her out of her reverie and she jumped.

_Tea. Right_. The classic English response to every situation, even being kidnapped, fake-raped and saved from certain death by your soulmate. A near-hysterical giggle escaped Jemma before she stifled it.

Mug in hand, she explored the rest of the cabin – which took about a minute. The internal door indeed led into a bedroom, a reasonably comfortable one. The bed wasn't made up, but she found sheets in a chest and quickly saw to that. It was a big bed. Quite comfortable looking. Jemma tried not to think about rolling around with Brock Rumlow testing the springs, and looked into the bathroom.

Well – it was clean, at least. But the shower stall was tiny. Would Brock even fit in there, with his broad shoulders?

_Stop thinking about his shoulders!_

She turned the shower on, tested the water, smiled as she felt it start to warm up. Closed the bedroom door and stripped off her clothes, found a towel in the chest. There was soap and shampoo in the shower stall, cheap generic brands but they'd get her clean, at least.

The water never did get hot enough to steam up the bathroom mirror, and when Jemma finally stepped out of the shower, she caught a glimpse of herself as she wrapped the towel around her wet hair and stopped, shocked.

She'd never had so many bruises in her life. They were all surface, none of them deep – well, except for the bite on her thigh, and a hickey on her neck. She touched a fingertip to the purple mark, remembering the look in his eyes after he'd given it to her, a heated, possessive, _branding_ gaze.

Jemma swallowed. Realised just how aroused she was.

_Stop. You have to stop, Jemma. He doesn't want you._

But I want _him_.

She staggered the few steps to the bed, collapsed onto it, her hand slipping between her legs, finding that she was already slick. Had been, if she was going to be completely honest with herself, ever since he'd forced her down onto his bed in the HYDRA compound and kissed her. "Oh God," she moaned softly, unable to stop thinking about it, about the way he'd held her hands above her head and stared into her eyes as he whispered her soulmark words, that intense dark stare of his seeming to burn right into her.

Jemma whimpered as she thought about his hands on her, huge and calloused as he'd touched her. Remembered when he'd bitten her thigh, so close to where she'd really wanted his mouth – had he been able to smell her arousal? Her index finger brushed over the throbbing bud of her clit and she moaned his name.

Returning to the cabin after his patrol, Rumlow shucked his jacket and boots, washed his hands at the kitchen sink, poured a glass of water and drained it. Jemma had to have finished in the shower, he'd heard the sound of running water shut off just as he came back in. He'd give her a few minutes to get decent and then ask if he could go wash himself, he was grimy and sweaty from the day.

_Do not think about Jemma in the shower, Brock._

It was too late though, now he couldn't think about anything else, her soft skin all sleek with water, the bruises he'd put on her like brands of his ownership dark against her white flesh.

He pressed his hands flat on the kitchen counter, closed his eyes, took slow, deep breaths. Tried to clear his mind.

It was very quiet in the cabin, and his enhanced hearing picked up the slightest sounds. So there was no possible way he could have missed hearing the soft moan of his name from behind the bedroom door.

His head snapped up, every sense suddenly on high alert. _Jemma_. Was she in distress, did she need help? He headed swiftly for the bedroom door, and his hand was on the handle when the soft moan came again.

"Brock. Oh Brock, _yes_."

His brain stuttered to a complete stop.

"Please, just _there_…"

She was _literally_ going to be the death of him. He leaned his forehead against the door, taking in deep, gulping breaths of air. Imagining what she was doing. _You can't go in there, Brock. You can't. You'd be taking shameless advantage, she's been through too much today_.

His hand trembled on the door handle. _If she moans my name like that one more time_…

… _no, no, that's wrong. Don't put responsibility for your actions onto her_. _For once in your life, do the right thing._

Jemma moaned in frustration. She couldn't come, her fingers were too soft, she couldn't get enough _friction_. Just thinking about Rumlow had her wet and bubbling, he was everything in her darkest fantasies she'd hoped her soulmate might be, dark, powerfully masculine, thickly muscled, that edge of danger about him that made her shiver with _want_. She whimpered as she thought about the roughness of his stubble, how it had felt on her skin. The hardness of his hands. The swell and bunch of his muscles as he moved.

"Please," she whined, unable to stop herself but unable to get to that edge. "Oh God, please, Brock…" in her mind he hovered over her, his dark eyes devouring her as his hands explored. His mouth caressing, gentle at first, then rougher as she begged, rasping his stubble on her tender flesh. He'd kiss that bite mark on her thigh, then trail his mouth higher…

Jemma sobbed with frustration. "I can't! Brock, please!"

_Oh fuck this. Who am I kidding? I'm not a good guy._

His hand twisted the door handle.

**Y'all know how much I love a good smuthanger, huh?**

**Tee hee.**


	6. The Shadow Of Doubt

**Chapter Six – The Shadow Of Doubt**

_Chris Isaak – Wicked Game_

"Skye." Coulson leaned his hands on her desk and glared into her eyes. "You work for _me_, if you'll recall. Not Agent Simmons. '_She's safe and she's found her soulmate'_ is really not going to cut it as a report."

Skye resisted the urge to bite her fingernails. "She said she was kidnapped by HYDRA and rescued by a S.H.I.E.L.D. mole. That explosion down near Charlotte was them escaping," she offered.

Phil only looked angrier. "I didn't even know HYDRA _had_ a facility near Charlotte, and we certainly don't have a mole there, so keep talking!"

"She said he had to contact Fury…"

"Skye!"

"And HYDRA have put a kill-on-sight order out on him this afternoon so he really might be on our side after all!" Skye gabbled. "He promised Jemma was safe with him…"

If looks could kill, Phil's gaze would have killed her stone dead.

"Brock Rumlow!"

Phil turned an ugly shade of grey and collapsed to sit in a chair. "No. _No_."

"Oh God." Skye's hands were trembling. "Sir, I haven't seen Jemma's soulmark but she put it on file and it does make sense in context, it says _Shh, you need to trust me, I'll get you out of here_."

"Skye, did it not occur to you that if she put it on file, HYDRA _know what it is_? They could have faked it. Her writing's on plenty of reports in the system, for that matter HYDRA held the Academy for a while, there'd have been handwritten assignments by the dozen on file there, you know what Simmons is like about homework. They could easily have taken whatever she first said to Rumlow and tattooed it on him in her writing!"

"Oh God," Skye said numbly.

"Does _he_ have a soulmark on file?"

"It's not compulsory to record your soulmark…" Skye's fingers flew across the keyboard. "There's not one on file, and he ticked the box that says _I choose not to declare whether or not I have a soulmark_."

"Rumlow's a traitor," Phil said it with certainty. "He's a killer and a very dangerous man. They've faked his soulmark and everything else to make Jemma trust him. She's probably even now spilling the last few secrets they don't have. Skye – we need to evacuate the Playground. _Now_."

**WHOOPS. Did I just write a short cliffhanger chapter? YES, YES I DID.**

**Are you scared? Is Rumlow evil really?**

**What's that you're shouting about?**

… **oh, the smuthanger from yesterday? I never promised to resolve that today.**

**BWAHAHAHAHAHAH.**


	7. I Like Rough

**Chapter Seven – I Like Rough**

_Crazy Town - Butterfly_

**WARNINGS: I've just realised I originally rated this T. NOT HAPPENING. It is M Rated so stop reading here NOW if you don't want to read Mature sexual action.**

**There is explicit sexual content in this chapter. (Stop cheering and jumping up and down. Some people read my work for the plots. Go figure). Due to the way I see their relationship (Rumlow is a very dominant alpha-type male and NO this isn't ABO fic) it's not the gentlest of lovemaking. So if biting and a bit of rough play isn't your thing…**

… **honestly I suggest you give up on this fic now. Seriously. It's not going to get any gentler from here on in. (It's your fault, amusewithaview. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it).**

The click of the door handle was very loud in the quiet room. Jemma's eyes flew open and she stared up into Rumlow's dark eyes as he towered over the bed.

_Well this is embarrassing._

There was no possible way that she could pretend she'd been doing anything other than trying to get herself off while thinking about him. Her feet were planted on the mattress, knees bent and spread wide, the fingers of one hand holding herself open while the others were buried in her bush.

And he'd probably heard her moaning. _Super-soldier. Oh dear God_.

"I didn't know you were back," she said numbly.

He said nothing. Just stared at her hands, his eyes wide, lips parted, breath coming quickly. He'd stripped off his jacket again and was wearing a sleeveless black tee, weapons harness across his chest dragging the fabric tight and showing off his extremely impressive musculature.

"I don't suppose you'd like to give me a hand?"

"You tempting little _minx_," it was actually a growl, a low rumble deep in his chest, and then he was kneeling on the bed beside her, hands brushing hers aside.

Jemma kept her eyes open. It was too good not to, he looked magnificent as he crouched over her, devouring her ravenously with his gaze.

"Beautiful," he muttered, "fucking beautiful." And then he reached out to cup her breast in one big hand, squeezing gently.

Jemma shuddered, and he flinched back, letting go. "Sorry, that was rough."

She grabbed his hand, brought it back to where it had been a moment before. "I _like_ rough."

His breath came even quicker. "You do?"

"Yes." She realised something, then. "It's said that soulmates are each other's perfect match, in all ways. Chances are, if you want it, I'll like it."

Brock had to close his eyes as her words triggered a flood of increasingly erotic fantasies. "Jemma," he said hoarsely. "You have no idea, some of the things I want to do to you…" He couldn't stop his hand from moving, squeezing her breast, pinching lightly at her nipple, already peaked hard in the cool air.

She made a soft, needy little sound, reaching her hands up to him, and he lost any semblance of control as he scented her musk on her hand. He grabbed her hand and sucked her fingers into his mouth hungrily, tasting her, swirling his tongue over her fingers to lick every last trace of her juices off her skin.

Jemma's eyes were wide, watching him, her pupils blown with lust, her chest heaving as she panted. Somewhere deep inside a stern little voice (the part of her that loved homework and never, ever broke rules) was telling her that she shouldn't be letting him do this. And that she _really_ shouldn't be enjoying it quite so much.

Jemma told her conscience to fuck off and ran her free hand – the one Rumlow _wasn't_ licking like it was a particularly delicious lollipop – up his thickly muscled arm to land on his shoulder, tugging him towards her.

"Please. I want you."

"_Fuck_, Jemma," he muttered hoarsely around her fingers.

"Yes, that. I want you to fuck me. Do it, Brock, please fuck me, fuck me _hard_." She was almost delirious with wanting him as his strong fingers played with her nipple, chafing it firmly, pulling and plucking until it was _aching_ and she thought she might come from the sheer pleasure of that alone.

She was beyond reason; he'd caught her vulnerable, already aroused, and he _really_ shouldn't be doing this. But to walk away now and leave her unsatisfied would be almost worse, in his mind, than giving her what she was begging him for; so he compromised. Easing down beside her on the bed he let her fingers out of his mouth and took her swollen nipple between his lips instead.

Jemma's back arched and she fucking _wailed_; her hands slid into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp as she held him to her. His teeth sank in lightly, but instantly he was soothing the bite with his tongue, sucking her nipple deep into his mouth and drawing on it, flicking his tongue around the aching peak.

"_Brock!_"

_Ah, Christ, the way she said his name_… he put his hand on her thigh and she spread her legs instantly, willingly, pushing up against his hand in a desperate bid to get it where she wanted it. He gave it to her; right then he could have denied her nothing, least of all this. Thick fingers slid into soaked curls, exploring gently at first, and then as she whimpered and rolled her hips frantically against his hand, he put his thumb and index finger on either side of her clit and _squeezed_.

_Oh God yes that was it,_ that was what she needed, that roughness, the _friction_ of his hard, calloused fingertips as he pinched at her clit, a fast, rhythmic pulse – a long finger slid into her soaked passage as his teeth grazed her nipple again and Jemma lost it completely.

She _screamed_ his name, arching under him, juices soaking his hand as tight walls clenched on his finger, her slim body shuddering.

Brock couldn't help but lift his head to watch her, letting her nipple slip from his mouth. She was beautiful anyway, but watching her come with his name on her lips… he drank in the sight, knowing he'd never forget this moment. Slowly, he drew his hand away, petting her gently as she came down, stroking his fingers down her thigh, tracing lightly over the soulmark words written just inside her knee.

Watching her face as he was, he saw the exact moment that brilliant mind kicked back into gear. Her eyes shifted behind closed lids, and then they popped open and she looked at him, her mouth opening, little pink tongue licking at her lips nervously.

"Brock?" Jemma said shyly. She couldn't read the expression on his face at all, couldn't tell what he was thinking. He'd taken his hand off her as soon as she opened her eyes. _What_ must he think of her? _Good God, she'd acted like a complete slut_…

"You trust too easily," Rumlow said roughly. _How_ had she wormed her way into his heart so damn _fast_? For a man who'd never let himself love anything or anyone since his parents died when he was seven and he was thrust alone into a cruel world, it was a deeply terrifying feeling, this overwhelming urge to take care of her, to protect her from everything. Including herself – and most especially him. She _definitely_ needed protecting from _him_.

"I…" she had no idea what to say to that. Because he was right. She _shouldn't_ be trusting herself to him like this, shouldn't be letting him touch her, soulmate or no. This was too quick. It was wrong, reckless, not at all the way sensible Jemma Simmons should behave. But then he _was_ her soulmate and soulbonds were strange things, there were documented cases of perfectly sensible people doing all sorts of mad reckless things within mere hours of meeting their soulmate…

He kissed her. Once, deeply, hungry and rough enough to make her shiver against him, lust suddenly rekindled even though her body was still tremoring through the aftershocks of that spectacularly fulfilling orgasm. And then he was gone, rolling off the bed and to his feet almost quicker than her eyes could follow and certainly too fast for her to try and grab at him, keep him from leaving her. The bedroom door slammed behind him.

She was on her feet instantly, heedless of her nakedness, rushing after him. "Brock! Please, I…"

The cabin's outside door was still shivering on its hinges. Jemma ran, yanking it open, staring out into the blackness of the night. Snow had begun to fall, thick white flakes drifting lazily downwards.

"_Brock!_" she screamed it into the darkness, already beginning to shiver as the icy air struck at her bare skin.

There was no reply.

**THERE BE FEELS AHEAD. And not the sexytimes kind of feels, well not much. We're about to find out Rumlow's true state of mind…**


	8. Control Yourself

**Chapter Eight - Control Yourself**

_Seether feat. Amy Lee - Broken _

**Just a quick note. In this AU, everything that Rumlow did in CA:TWS actually happens, with the sole exception of his fight with Sam Wilson. In this AU it was Rollins who fought with Wilson and got crushed in the Triskelion rubble – and incidentally, Rollins' cabin they're in now.**

**A bit of stuff about how soulbonds work in this AU in this chapter, as well as Rumlow feels…**

He ran into the darkness, heedless of the stones and sharp sticks that cut at his bare feet, of the icy snow stinging his bare arms.

_I've lost control._

He'd never run from a fight in his life. Not since his first foster father tried to rape him and he put a knife in the bastard's guts and disappeared into the night. He'd gone toe to toe in a fucking elevator with _Captain America_, armed with nothing more than a shockstick, a gun full of rubber bullets, and a pair of electromagnetic cuffs he'd jiggered to work at half-power, _knowing_ he was going to get the shit kicked out of him – and he hadn't flinched.

_I knew what was happening. What I had to do. I was in control._

HYDRA bringing out the Winter Soldier had almost fucked everything up, but he'd compensated, adjusted, taken Rogers and Romanoff prisoner and allowed Hill to sneak into the van, setting off on a different mission so he wouldn't be suspected when Hill broke them out.

_I managed the situation. Controlled it._

Carter had played her part in the control room to perfection. She'd vouch to Coulson for him if he couldn't get hold of Fury, though whether or not Coulson would believe her was another matter. Rumlow still thought launching the Insight helicarriers and letting Rogers wreck them was a terrible idea, but Fury had insisted it was the only way to root out who was HYDRA and who wasn't. And he was probably right. Certainly the events of the last few months had proved the theory.

_I was in the right place to see it all. Control events, make sure the HYDRA commanders believed I was their loyal attack dog._

And now, everything had been thrown completely up in the air by one small, beautiful woman with wide, innocent hazel eyes. She'd turned his world completely upside down with a few words whimpered in a quiet, frightened little voice. She could have no idea what plans had been upset because of her. He was supposed to be in Mexico right now, had been due to take a flight this evening.

_And yet, here he was_. Standing shaking in the snow because he couldn't fucking control himself, couldn't keep his hands off her. Jemma could have no idea how close she'd come to his taking what she offered, from pounding her into the mattress until she wouldn't be able to move without every muscle in her body reminding her who she damn well belonged to.

Rumlow took a slow, deep breath. _Control yourself_.

Soulbonds were rare. He knew the numbers. Less than five per cent of humanity were born with or developed the marks and less than a quarter of those actually found their soulmates. Barely one in a hundred. Jemma had very likely never seen a couple in the aftermath of a new bond, but he had.

One of his men in STRIKE had found his soulmate when they rescued a bunch of hostages. The girl had been traumatised, in shock, and the soulbond had affected her to the point that she'd pretty much offered herself up on a plate. Jackson had taken what the girl offered more than happily, but she'd hated him afterwards, when her emotions settled down. Accused him of taking advantage, since she was barely seventeen. They'd ended up constantly at odds and in the end the girl had walked away. Jackson had fallen apart and ended up dead on a mission less than three months later, making a dumbass rookie mistake because his head just wasn't in the game.

Rumlow shuddered just thinking about it. There were too many parallels there with his and Jemma's situation. She was traumatised and not thinking clearly, clinging to him, trying to complete the soulbond with a physical bonding because her instincts were telling her that she _needed_ him to protect her.

What she didn't understand is that he didn't _want_ that. Didn't want her offering herself to a man she truly didn't know in exchange for his protection. When and if she gave herself to him, he wanted her clear in her mind about what she was doing, wanted her to want _him_, not just a man she knew could protect her. He didn't want it to be _just_ about the soulbond.

Rumlow sighed. He could feel his soulmark words itching, right on the curve of his ass. Knew that the words inside Jemma's knee would rest right _there_ if she had her legs wrapped around him as he fucked deep into her, that the bond would complete utterly perfectly when and if that ever happened. They'd never be free of each other. Not that he _wanted_ to be free of her…

_It's not your choice._

_The only decent thing to do is give Jemma the freedom to choose, when she's more coherent and can think clearly._

He groaned. Lifted his hands to scrub at his face – and caught the scent of her musk on his fingers.

"Oh dear God," he said aloud.

He'd been painfully hard all day, ever since he'd pushed her down on his bed and kissed her back at the base. It had been, at times, quite a struggle to move around. He'd had to draw on his years of training, of discipline, to keep from just taking her like the animal his instincts were driving him to be. He almost sobbed with need now, sucking his own fingers into his mouth to taste her again, other hand shaking as he unfastened his pants.

His cock was hot, swollen and throbbing under his fingers, the tip wet with pre-cum. With the taste of Jemma in his mouth and the vision in his mind of her arched on the bed crying out his name as she climaxed under his hand, he barely needed to touch himself before he was going off like a rocket, jet after jet of hot semen shooting out into the falling snow and splattering on the ground.

Rumlow leaned his shoulder against a tree, shaking in the aftermath of that fiery release. And then he straightened, fastened his pants and looked over his shoulder, back towards the cabin.

"You weak bastard," he said softly, and then let out a bitter laugh. "Better out here than in there, though."

He'd barely taken a couple of steps before he groaned with disbelief. "Oh, no fucking way!"

Because he was already getting hard again.

"You _bastards_." It had to be the serum HYDRA had given him. It had been a little more than a year ago, right when he was assigned to work with Rogers. HYDRA had enhanced both him and Rollins, wanting to make sure they had someone close to Rogers who was capable of taking him down. Rumlow had tried to decline, but they'd insisted, and Fury had ordered him to stop protesting and say thank you like a good little HYDRA attack dog – and steal some samples for analysis while he was at it.

He'd worried that the enhancement was going to make obvious physical changes that would compromise him inside S.H.I.E.L.D. too early – Rogers had grown about 9 inches in height and put on a hundred pounds of muscle, among other things – but it hadn't. He looked just as he always had – but his stamina was off the charts, his muscle density way up and his reaction time had to be seen to be believed.

And apparently, his refractory period was now that of a teenager.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_!" He hit the tree he was standing beside hard enough to make it shake, and started as a sudden load of fresh snow dumped on his head. "Goddamn it!"

Rumlow looked up into the sky, brushing the snow off his hair. And blinked, because all he could see was whirling white.

_This is a blizzard_. He cursed himself for not putting on the radio in the car and listening to a local weather forecast, but he hadn't wanted to wake Jemma. She looked so peaceful when she slept. And since he'd been shipping out for Mexico that afternoon, he hadn't been worried about the local weather. Now, he cursed himself for not checking.

Turning back to the cabin, he retraced his steps through the thick, swirling whiteness, glad of the infallible sense of direction that had come with the serum. That shit did have a lot of benefits, he was willing to concede that, but HYDRA were most definitely giving it to the wrong fucking people.

He got to the car first and remembered the radio. _Better check that forecast_.

Five minutes later he climbed out of the car, swearing steadily under his breath. _Stupid fucking idiot._ He'd stranded them in the middle of a snowstorm that was expected to last at least three days. Why the _hell_ hadn't he thought to check the forecast before bringing Jemma here?

_Be honest with yourself, Brock, _he thought as he hesitated in front of the cabin door_. You weren't thinking about anything other than getting her somewhere safe. This was the closest place you could think of where no one would know to look._

_And it's nice and isolated_, the demon on his shoulder whispered in his ear. _No one to interrupt_.

"Too fucking isolated now," Brock muttered, and pulled the cabin door open.

The light was still on. Jemma was asleep on the couch, fully dressed, a blanket huddled around her even though the cabin was now reasonably warm, the two space heaters on the walls doing their job. And there were fresh tear tracks down her cheeks.

Brock's heart melted, and every single resolution he'd just made about keeping his distance until she was ready to make her decision coherently went straight to hell.

"Oh, baby girl," he wasn't even aware of closing the door, crossing the small room and going to his knees before her. Raised a shaking hand to brush a straying lock of hair from her cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Jemma opened her eyes to see him kneeling beside her, an expression of unexpected concern on his handsome face. "Brock," she whispered.

"Don't cry because of me, baby girl, please don't. I'm not worth a single tear from you." His thumb brushed lightly below her eye, and she flinched. His hand was _freezing_.

"You're so cold!" her hands came up and grabbed his, and she took him in with her eyes. He was wet through, snow melting in his black hair. He had no jacket on, and, she saw as she sat up, his feet were bare – and bleeding. "Oh God, Brock, what have you done? You'll catch your death!"

Suddenly she was all medical professional, getting to her feet and practically dragging him into the bedroom. "Get out of those wet things right now, and into the shower! The water's not that hot but I'll make you some hot tea…" She almost pushed him into the bathroom, shut the door and was gone before he could blink twice. And certainly before he could tell her that he was perfectly fine, even the cuts and scrapes on his feet were already healed up.

In the end he sighed and stripped his clothes off because they _were_ cold and wet and kind of uncomfortable, and yeah, he was dirty anyways. He got into the shower and soaped up briskly under the tepid water, rinsed himself clean and stepped out. No towel. _Right, yeah, there'll be one in that chest Jack had in the bedroom..._ He headed back into the bedroom, opening the door from the bathroom just as Jemma opened the other door, mug in hand. She looked up and saw him, her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open with shock.

Really, he had no choice but to bolt across the room and grab her hands, because otherwise she was going to drop that hot tea and probably burn herself.

Which meant was that he was now towering over her stark naked, and, as always in her presence, very much aroused.

**O_O**

**Things don't quite seem to be going the way control-freak Brock intends, do they?**

**Well, now we know WHY he's holding back from Jemma, anyway. Next chapter, we'll find out HER opinion on soulmates, and see if she can convince him to change his mind…**


	9. My Eyes Are Up Here

**Chapter Nine – My Eyes Are Up Here**

_Culture Club – Do You Really Want To Hurt Me_

Well, apparently they were taking it in turns to get caught naked and aroused. Only Jemma thought she was definitely getting the better part of the deal, because dear God, Rumlow was _magnificent_. She stared and stared, taking in every inch of his thickly muscled frame, _oh, goodness_, there were quite a _lot_ of inches involved…

"My eyes are up here and it would really be best if you kept yours up too," he rumbled, making Jemma's eyes snap up to his, a hot blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Just checking out the view," she quipped. He took the hot mug of tea from her trembling hands and set it on the bedside table, turning his back to her.

_Oh, I think that view might be even better…_

He had a quite magnificent ass, hard and tight above ropy thigh muscles.

"Stop it, Jemma, you're really pushing the limits of my control here!" he kept his back to her, yanking open a drawer in the dresser and pawing through it, finding a pair of sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt and tugging them on. The sweatpants were going to be completely useless at concealing his erection, he realised ruefully, but it was pointless looking for underwear. Rollins had never bothered with the stuff.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice, and he turned back to see her head bowed. The thick sound of her voice made her wonder if she was crying again.

"Jemma?" he said quietly, and realised when she wouldn't look at him that she _was_ crying. "Aw, hell, please don't cry." He couldn't help but move towards her, slip his arms around her. She pressed her forehead against his chest. "What is it, baby girl? Don't cry over me, I ain't worth it."

"It's not… I…" she took several deep, gulping breaths. "I'm sorry. I've been acting all slutty and it's so not like me and I'm sure you don't like it and I… I… _why_ do you smell so good?"

He sighed, stroked her hair, petting her tenderly. "It's the soulbond trying to form, sweetheart."

"Oh!" her head jerked up, her eyes widening. "But of _course_ it is, how silly of me!"

"And I don't think you're slutty. I think you're insanely tempting and it's taking everything I have not to accept the offer, but I don't think I could stand to have you hatin' on me afterwards when everything's cooled down and you're thinking straight again."

"I couldn't hate you," Jemma almost laughed at the thought. "You're my _soulmate_, I was silly to even be frightened of you earlier!"

Brock stared down at her, an awful suspicion dawning in his mind. "Do you know any soulmate pairs?"

"My parents."

"Of course they are. And they've got the whole nine yards, haven't they, the white picket fence and two beautiful kids…" Children of soulmated pairs were about five times as likely as anyone else to have a soulmark themselves. She totally believed in the whole soulmates-are-always-happy-ever-after myth.

"Four kids, I have three brothers. Brock – what's the problem?" She furrowed her brow at his disgusted face.

"My parents were soulmates, too." He drew her to the bed, pressed her to sit down beside him. "My father was a bent cop on the Detroit City vice squad. My mother was a teenage prostitute. He made no attempt to get her out of the life, even once their soulbond formed and I came along. They were both killed when I was seven in a drug deal gone bad."

Jemma's jaw practically hit the floor, her eyes flying wide with horror.

"Then there was a guy on the STRIKE squad. Paul Jackson. He met his soulmate in a hostage rescue…"

"That wouldn't be _us_," Jemma protested when he finished the story. "I'm not some teenager. I'm old enough to know exactly what I'm doing, and to have a life that doesn't depend on you."

"I just," he looked away from her earnest expression. "I – want you to want me for _me_. Not just because of the soulmarks."

"Brock." Her hand was soft and light on his cheek, but he let her turn his head back to meet her eyes. "Today – yesterday, now – wasn't the first time we laid eyes on each other, was it?"

"No." He did remember her from before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. He'd seen her around the Hub and the Triskelion a time or two – had even winked at her when he caught her checking him out once. She'd blushed and fled, piquing his interest as he watched her pretty bottom wiggling up the stairs.

"I remember seeing you at the Hub once. Looking at me." He'd debated going after her and asking for a date, but had ended up smacking Rollins across the back of the head when the asshole made a crude remark about her instead and leading the rest of the STRIKE team away before they degenerated into lechery and speculation about her talents in bed. He'd gone back to see if he could find her a few days later, only to hear that she'd been assigned to Coulson's team and shipped out.

At the time, he'd regretfully dismissed it as a missed opportunity – and told himself she was too young and sweet for a jaded bastard like him anyway.

"I was attracted to you _then_," Jemma confessed. "The STRIKE commandos were a scary bunch, everyone knew to stay well away from them, but _you_ – you spoke and they listened. I hid at the top of the stairs and eavesdropped," she admitted, "heard the things they were saying about me. And you just barked some orders and told them to show some respect, and they all shut up." She reached up and traced her fingers lightly down his roughly stubbled jaw. "I was _very_ turned on."

It was a shy little whisper. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, but sitting this close she could just distinguish iris from pupil, could see his pupils flare at her admission, though he didn't speak.

"I hoped you'd come after me," Jemma admitted. "Dreamed about you for weeks. I don't know if it was the soulbond trying to force us together, but I wanted you even then, Brock. _You_. The man who commanded instant respect from the toughest bastards in S.H.I.E.L.D., and who stood up for a girl he didn't even know to stop them slandering her reputation."

"I couldn't let them say things like that about a lady like you," he muttered, unable to keep from turning his head and brushing his lips over her palm. "But, Jemma – they respected me because I was tougher and more of a bastard than any of them, and they knew it. I'm not – I'm not HYDRA, I'm Fury's man like I told you, but that doesn't necessarily make me a _good_ man."

"I don't think it matters whether _you_ believe you're good or not," she told him gently, "just as long as _I_ do."

She was still stroking his face, her fingers catching lightly on his stubble.

"You shouldn't believe that I am," he said hoarsely, "shouldn't trust me like this."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

He choked. "No! Well, not – not unless you want me to…"

Jemma couldn't quite help but giggle, arching her eyebrows at him. "That wasn't what I meant, but we can certainly discuss that in a little while." _Oh, are we EVER going to discuss that in a little while_. "Um, I meant, do you _really_ want to hurt me? Kill me, break bones, hurt my friends, make me cry?"

"No," it was a curt, definitive answer. "It fucking kills me when you cry, baby girl." His voice softened, his thumb swiped gently under her eyes. "I never want to see you cry again."

She smiled at him. "Then that's good enough for me."

"Whatever it takes," Brock promised her, feeling the need to say the words, to show her that _he_ was in this all the way, no matter what her decision might be, "I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy, to see you safe. _Anything_."

She smiled wider, and startled him by wriggling suddenly onto him, straddling his lap and putting her arms around his neck. "In that case," she whispered huskily, "we started something earlier and didn't finish it."

"Jemma!" he let out a sharp hiss of breath as she quite deliberately ground her crotch against his erection.

"I'm being a naughty little girl again, aren't I, Brock?" Somehow, now that she knew he didn't mind, Jemma no longer cared. She brought her lips to his ear and whispered silkily, "Why don't you punish me for it?"

She'd come to a realisation, sitting there beside him listening to his stories of two ruined soulbonds. She almost certainly knew a lot more about soulmates and how the bonds worked than he did. She still remembered the fascinating class she'd taken her second year in the Academy – of course, she'd had a particular interest in the subject, being the bearer of a mark herself. _The Biochemical and Physiological Effects of Soulbonds, Before, During And After The Bonding Process_.

Jemma distinctly remembered writing a paper – it had made her blush, and she'd been rather glad to hand it in to a female professor – about the sexual compatibility of soulmate pairs. Any number of studies had proven quite definitively that soulmates were about as sexually compatible as it was possible to get.

Which meant that whatever _she_ wanted – Brock wanted to do it to her. The very thought made her shiver. Made her realise that she could tell him every dark dream, every hot fantasy she'd ever had and he would make them come true, not just willingly but _eagerly_.

"You're dominant, aren't you?" she whispered in his ear, slowly grinding herself against him, and _oh God he felt good_, hard and hot against her even through their clothes. "That's why you're worried. You think I'll be repulsed by what you want to do to me."

Rumlow couldn't stop the groan deep in his chest as she nibbled at his ear. "Yes. Yes, it's true, Jemma. And you're no submissive."

"I'm not going to kneel at your feet and not look you in the eyes, no," she agreed. "I'm not going to wait for your permission to touch you or only wear what you permit me or bullshit like that. But then – that's not what you want, is it?"

She _knew_. She'd figured him out, and he was utterly helpless against her. "No. That's not what I want."

"You _want_ me to cheek you, don't you? Want me to answer back and argue with you – so that you can _make_ me submit to you."

His only reply was a low, wordless moan as she slipped one clever hand in between them and traced the shape of his arousal gently through his thin tracksuit pants.

"Shall I tell you what _I_ want, Brock?"

"Jemma," somehow, he retained just enough coherency to grab her hand. "Stop. I – don't even know if Rollins kept any condoms here. Don't want to take this too far."

"Oh," she smiled coquettishly up at him. "We don't need those. I have an implant. You can't get me pregnant. And you promised me earlier that you're clean…?"

"Yes." HYDRA gave him regular medical exams just as S.H.I.E.L.D. had. And he hadn't bedded another woman in a long time anyway, had been too afraid of compromising some part of his triple-agent identity in a moment of weakness. "You've been checked out?"

"Of course." She leaned in closer. Whispered a truth that she was fairly sure would set off his every dominant, possessive instinct. "I was waiting for my soulmate. I've never let anyone fuck me bareback before."

_She'd broken him. Shattered his vaunted control into a million pieces_. Brock recognised it, vaguely, as he twisted, hands around Jemma's waist, forcing her down to the bed beneath his body. Prayed Nick Fury never found out, because the one-eyed git would laugh his head off, that Brock Rumlow, toughest bastard in S.H.I.E.L.D., who never, _ever_ cracked under pressure, had broken at a few sensual whispers from a dainty little scientist.

"You _witch_," he growled it against Jemma's neck. She whimpered, lifting her chin to bare her throat in submission. "Tempting me like that. You want to know what I do to bad girls like you?"

"I'd very much like you to show me."

**Why, Jemma – you bad girl! Clever little madam, manipulating Rumlow to give her exactly what she wants. In the next chapter…**

**Oh come on you KNEW there was a smuthanger due there.**


	10. When I Say

**Chapter Ten – When I Say**

_John Farnham – Burn For You_

Rumlow let out a growl, just before his lips fastened over the hickey on Jemma's throat. The pressure on the bruise made her gasp, hips jerking up against him until he forced her down.

"Don't you move. You are in so much trouble." His voice was a low, raspy snarl, and combined with the force he was exerting to hold her still it made Jemma slide into that headspace she craved so badly, that beautiful, foggy place where she didn't have to be Little Miss Perfect, the girl who ALWAYS did her homework on time and got straight A's for everything. No – in this place she could be a different kind of teacher's pet entirely.

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Brock asked her quietly. She'd gone limp under him, her body soft and pliant, though her hands had reached up to slip over his shoulders. "You want me to show you who's in charge, to take you, to _own_ you."

"Please," she whimpered. "Teach me how to be a good girl for you, sir."

"Oh, I will." He pulled a little more firmly on her hair, enjoying the tiny moan she let out. Scraped his stubble deliberately across the soft, tender skin of her throat.

Jemma was quite sure that she was letting out extremely embarrassing noises, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She did cry out with loss as Brock pushed himself up off her, but then he was unzipping her hooded sweatshirt, eyes hot as he stared down at her.

"Which one are you wearing?" he demanded.

"Hmm?" Jemma wasn't really coherent enough to understand what he meant.

"The underwear. The things I bought you. Which one are you wearing?"

"Oh. The pale green satin one, with the little pink roses – I thought it was so pretty…"

He let out a strangled sound. "You should _only_ wear pretty things like that. Silk and satin and lace…"

"But I _like_ my jeans and Doc Martens," she cheeked him.

"_Jemma_." He wanted to rip her clothes from her, but she only had a very few. They could be stranded here for days, and he'd die before he let her wear the traitor Rollins' castoffs, so instead he stripped them from her gently, pausing for a long moment to admire the way the lingerie he'd bought for her looked against her skin. Something very primal deep inside him was snarling with triumph that they were things _he'd_ given her. "Beautiful. So fuckin' beautiful."

"Brock," she reached out to him when he sat back on his heels and looked down at her, traced her fingertips over the corded muscles of his forearms. "Please. I want you – I _need_ you." He was looking at the bruises on her body, she realised, his expression angry. "Brock, stop. You needed to do it. I didn't mind."

He shook his head, tracing his fingers gently over a red abrasion on her upper arm. "It's – _wrong_. I know, if you like what I like, then a few bruises here and there is going to be par for the course, but I have to _pay_ for them. Have to give you five times as much pleasure as pain."

"Five times?" Jemma couldn't help but smile. "I like the sound of that. I was hoping for twice as much…" She wiggled her hands behind her and unsnapped her bra.

"At least five times," he said on a sharp breath as she slipped the straps down her arms and tossed the bra off the bed with a wicked little smile up at him.

"You'd better get started, then, hmm?" Jemma let her eyes drift half-closed, wriggled sensuously closer to him, walked her fingers along his thighs towards the massive erection very evident behind the thin fabric of his sweatpants. "I think you're very much in arrears."

"God, you're a cheeky little madam, you're going to give me so much trouble, aren't you?" Brock said, catching her hand before she got to his cock.

"You could shut me up," Jemma teased, "if you wanted to." Her gaze flickered down to his tented pants, and then back up to his eyes, and Brock groaned at the unmistakable invitation, at the thought of fucking into her mouth with his hands buried in her hair, her doe-like eyes gazing up at him trustingly.

"Not – not this time. This one's for you, baby girl. Payment." He took her hand, grabbed the other one, brought them both together and lifted them above her head. The bed had a simple iron frame and he pressed her fingers against the crossbar. "Hold on there. Nice and tight. I want to give you one hell of a good time and if you touch me it might not last as long as I'm planning."

His voice, commanding and firm, made Jemma shiver as she wrapped her fingers around the cool metal. She kept her eyes open, watching as he stripped off his shirt – _oh, wow_, she was never going to tire of _that_ view. Brock was _delicious_, all tan skin over heavy muscle, crisp dark chest hair tapering to a thin happy trail across his washboard abs before disappearing into his sweatpants. She was dying to explore all that muscle with her hands – and indeed her mouth – but the look he was giving her made her decide to let him have his way. For now.

He'd promised to make it worth her while, after all… Jemma sighed softly as he lifted her right foot in his hands and pressed his lips to the only bruise on her body he _hadn't_ given her, a yellowing mark on her shin where she'd tripped over a half-built machine of Fitz's a couple of days ago. He moved up, kissed a large red mark where he'd given her a stubble burn on her knee, mouthing and licking gently all over the mark before moving on, his fingers hooking in at the sides of her panties and drawing them down gently as he kept on kissing up her thigh.

Every mark, every abrasion he'd put on her body was given the same treatment, hot, gentle soothing from his tongue and lips, until Jemma was shuddering and panting underneath him. But he hardly touched her with his hands, those huge, powerful hands whose touch she craved so very badly. Not until he got to the bite mark on her inner thigh – he'd left that one for last – and as he licked gently over it, she choked out;

"Brock, _please_."

"Oh, baby girl," he murmured. "I love it when you beg."

"I'll beg all you like, Brock, oh please," she almost sobbed it as his hand glided up her thigh, squeezed lightly on the bruise before moving on up. And then, oh God, he was _touching_ her, thick fingers gliding gently through welling moisture. He pressed his other hand firmly down on her hip, forearm across her stomach holding her still as she tried to rotate her hips against his hand.

"Slow, Jemma. It'll be better."

She whined in her throat. "But I want it _now_!"

He slapped her clit. Not hard, just enough to send a tiny sting through her – and make Jemma's vision grey around the edges as a massive shock of pleasure shot through her. "Hnnngghh!" Her whole body shook.

Brock smiled, sliding two thick fingers into Jemma, feeling her clamp down tightly on them almost instantly. "You'll get it when I say and not before, you demanding little madam."

_Control_. He was taking back the control, and it felt _so good_, to see her go limp and pliant under his hands, to hear her whimper and plead as he fingerfucked her slowly, deliberately avoiding her G-spot, slipping his thumb over her clit in an intermittent, irregular movement that wouldn't be enough to get her off. Or he'd thought it wouldn't, but he could feel the little fluttering movements around his fingers that presaged another climax, and hastily slipped them out.

"Not yet, you don't."

"Not fair!" almost frantic, Jemma let go of the metal rail, fully intending on putting her hands down and getting herself off if he wouldn't finish it because dammit she was _so close_… and suddenly one of his big hands was holding both her wrists, holding her hands away from herself.

"When I say, Jemma, not before," he growled it, leaning in to nip at the purple mark on her neck. "You're gonna come on my cock, I want to feel you."

"Please!" almost delirious, she struggled weakly against his hold. She could never have broken free of him even if she'd been genuinely fighting, but her struggles enflamed Brock further. He hesitated only briefly before turning her to her stomach. Letting her wrap her legs around him, letting the soulmarks touch while he made love to her, would lock the bond into place, and he still wanted to give her time, the opportunity to back out and be free of him if she so chose.

Jemma pushed up to her knees as he let go of her hands, looking back over her shoulder at him. He was shoving down his sweatpants, kicking free of them, staring at her hungrily all the while, before kneeling on the bed behind her.

"Hands on the rail, baby girl," he kissed her shoulder, putting one thick arm about her waist. "You're gonna want to hold on tight."

"Oh God I _really_ like the sound of that," Jemma gasped out as she felt his arousal slide against her ass, hot and heavy. "Please don't be gentle?" She shuffled forward, grabbed onto the rail, leaned her weight against it. Closed her eyes and moaned as she felt the tip of his cock glide between her thighs.

He laughed roughly. "I don't think I know _how_ to be gentle."

"Good thing I don't want it then, isn't it?" she mumbled, shuddering as his hands came around and curved over her breasts, roughly rubbing her nipples between calloused fingertips.

Despite his words, he wasn't rough. He tried to take it slow, to slide into her in easy, gentle stages, but Jemma gripped the rail and pushed back on him and suddenly he was balls-deep and raging, unable to hold out against the extreme pleasure. His hands slipped down to clamp on her slender hips, and he thrust _hard_.

_It was a good thing there was no one to hear them_, Jemma realised vaguely, because she was making noises like a cat in heat and Brock wasn't much better, deep growls and snarls in his chest as he fucked her more thoroughly than she'd ever even imagined was _possible_, thank you very much. She was going to have more bruises, from his hands on her hips, but they were most definitely the good kind, and the small pain was adding to the intense pleasure she was feeling, coiling tighter and higher until…

"That's it," Brock gasped as he felt Jemma begin to tighten around him, "Oh, shit, yeah, there, Jemma, that's it oh yeahhhhh…" he flung his head back with a low roar, shoving deep one last time as she _yowled_ his name.

The feeling of Brock's cock swelling and pulsing, spurting hot fluid inside her, made Jemma's orgasm insanely more intense than it already was, prolonging and heightening it until it was only his grip on her hips that stopped her from collapsing limply to the bed and literally falling off him. Instead he lowered her gently, sliding out of her and easing to lie beside her, gathering her in his arms.

Jemma could feel his seed trickling out of her, hot and sticky, and after a moment roused herself sufficiently to try to scramble up and head for the bathroom. _Try_ being the operative word because his arms tightened around her.

"And where do you think you're going?" he growled softly, nuzzling at her neck.

"Clean up," she mumbled.

"No."

"Huh?"

"I want you like this. My come dripping out of you. Reminding you who you belong to."

One part of her melted. The other rolled its eyes and said aloud "Possessive asshole. No. I'm sticky and uncomfortable and I won't sleep well like this."

Brock sighed, and released her reluctantly. "You're an utterly hopeless submissive, you know that?"

She grinned cheekily at him as she slid the bathroom door shut. But when she returned she curled into his arms and let him spoon her. She hadn't washed, just wiped herself clean, he could tell; his sensitive nose could still pick up his scent on her. It satisfied every possessive male instinct he had, and finally, he drifted off to sleep with Jemma in his arms, her quiet steady breathing a soothing lullaby in his ears.

**Posting early tonight because I'm going out. There probably won't be a chapter for a couple of days now because I need to get ahead in the plot and figure out what the hell I'm doing – but hey, I didn't leave you on a smuthanger for once!**


	11. More Wolf Than Man

**Chapter Eleven – More Wolf Than Man**

_3 Doors Down - Kryptonite_

Jemma woke at a faint splashing noise. She was lying on her front, a pillow snuggled in her arms, head turned to one side. Incuriously, she blinked her eyes open and took in the sight in front of her. A rough wooden dresser, her clothes folded neatly atop it.

It took only a few moments for her quick mind to remember everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours. Especially since she could still feel the aches and pains in her body, the pleasurable soreness between her legs.

The faint splash came from behind her, and she turned her head and looked through the bathroom doorway at Rumlow.

He was shaving, standing before the sink with lather all over his chin and throat, slowly drawing a straight razor through the thick black stubble. Jemma's eyes roamed down his body; he wore only a pair of black cargo pants that hung low on his lean hips. She hadn't really had the time or leisure to study him properly before; she did now, taking in the muscle tightly packed onto his body, several white scars marking his olive skin, long-healed bullet and knife wounds, she assessed.

_His body-fat percentage must be phenomenally low_, the scientist in her mused_. I wonder just how HYDRA enhanced him? He said it wasn't Centipede_ – and indeed there certainly weren't any of the exoskeletal grafts that Deathlok and the other Centipede soldiers had received.

Scientific curiosity fell by the wayside, however, as he tipped his chin up and slowly drew the razor up his throat. Jemma found herself licking her lips in pure aesthetic appreciation.

_Holy shit my soulmate is seriously the hottest guy I've ever laid eyes on._

Brock had been aware of Jemma's scrutiny ever since she turned her head. He didn't look at her, though, just carried on shaving. He'd already put enough marks on her, and since his beard was getting thick he'd figured he'd better shave it off. He'd put enough stubble rash on her delicate skin, and since he fully intended on getting his face between her thighs today and didn't want to make her tender, he'd found Jack's straight razor and sharpened it – _fuck, Rollins was a sloppy bastard_ – and lathered up.

Jemma found her breath coming quicker and her body warming with arousal as she watched Rumlow shave. It seemed such an intimate act to watch, and he was so hot doing it – he could probably make just about any action look sexy, she realised after watching for a few minutes, but the slow, controlled movements as he drew the sharp blade over his skin made her squirm and press her thighs together tightly.

Brock finished his shave, turning his head to check he hadn't missed any spots, washed and dried the razor and rinsed his face to remove any last traces of lather. Patting his skin dry with a towel, he finally turned to face Jemma and smiled.

"I could shave you too, if you like."

"What!" Jemma squeaked, surprised. His eyes slid down along her body and she realised what he meant. "No! I mean – do you want to?"

He shrugged, hanging the towel back up and prowling towards the bed, moving with the loose-limbed grace of a predator. "I'm not going to insist. But it'll make easier access for me to get my tongue in that sweet little pussy of yours."

Jemma was blushing all over as he leaned down and pulled back the covers over her. Automatically she rolled to her side and curled up, huddling into herself, but he caught her wrists and pulled her hands up above her head, his other strong hand pressing her knees down.

"Fuck, you are seriously fucking beautiful," Brock murmured, his eyes tracing down Jemma's slender form. She was still wriggling, trying instinctively to shield herself from his hungry gaze. He put a knee on the bed, leaned in more firmly to hold her still as he lowered his mouth to hers.

He'd come to a decision, when he woke a couple of hours ago and lay for a little while watching Jemma sleep. She'd curled trustingly into his arms and slept with her head on his shoulder, even drooling a tiny bit in a very adorable way.

He was keeping her. Maybe he didn't deserve her, maybe he never would, but his marks were on her for a reason – and he didn't think he could let her go, not now he knew what pleasures were to be found in her body. Not now that he understood she was his every filthy fantasy made real.

While he wouldn't force the bond, he would do everything in his power to make _Jemma_ want to. He'd debated waking her and making love to her then, but she needed to rest, and Brock slipped from the bed with a sigh, tucking a pillow into her arms when she let out a little grumbling noise at the loss of his body to sleep on. Time to have a proper look around and see just how well Rollins had stocked his little hideout.

Jemma lost all desire to do anything but kiss him back the moment Brock's lips met hers. Clean-shaven, he was actually kissing her more thoroughly now that he couldn't hurt her with his rough stubble, his mouth pressing more firmly on hers, tongue thrusting between her lips in quick, erotic movements that had her arching against him in no time, frantic for more. She let out a tiny whine of loss when his mouth left hers, but then he was kissing down her throat, pausing for a minute to nip at the hickey on her neck.

"_Unh_," Jemma let out a needy groan as he kissed lower, finding his way to her breasts and the tight pink nipples already pebbled hard for him. He let go of her knees, hand reaching for her other breast, though his other hand on her wrists stayed firm, pinning her down.

"So pretty," Brock murmured, using the edge of his teeth before drawing on Jemma's nipple in a long, hard suck that made her arch right up off the bed and gasp out his name. "You like that, baby girl?"

"Please," Jemma didn't even recognise her own voice, it was shaking and ragged with need. "Please don't stop."

"Not stopping, baby girl." He nipped again, squeezing her other nipple between hard fingertips. "Not as long as you're a good girl. You gonna be a good girl for me, Jemma?"

"Yes," Jemma moaned as he finished speaking and immediately started sucking again. "Yes – ahhh – oh God – please teach me how to be a good girl for you, sir!"

"Mm." Brock's already aching cock twitched hard as he realised Jemma had a teacher kink. He could just imagine her in a naughty schoolgirl outfit – maybe her hair done up in pigtails, long smooth thighs inviting his touch as she leaned over a desk, looking back over her shoulder at him… _Christ I need to stop or I'm gonna go off early._

He was tormenting her breasts, his hip pressing down on her thighs at such an angle that she couldn't grind her groin against him, her hands still trapped above her head. Jemma _needed_ more.

"Please!" she cried out mindlessly. "Oh God Brock please, just fuck me already!"

"Filthy mouth," he murmured with a chuckle, pressing one last kiss to her swollen nipple. "Gonna stop it up with my cock later."

Jemma _growled_. "Now. Do it now. Want your cock in my mouth…"

"You are not in charge here, missy!" He bit her nipple again sharply, enjoying the way she squealed and bucked against him. And then suddenly he was moving off her, reaching for his belt on the dresser, looping it around her wrists and lashing it to the bedframe so quickly she had no time to resist.

"What…" Jemma looked up, realised what he'd done and basically melted into a puddle of lust. "Oh God, Brock, you're wicked," she choked out.

"Yes I am, sweetheart." He gave a menacing little chuckle, and then knelt on the bed, pushing her legs apart, lifting her thighs over his shoulders. "Now let me hear you scream."

She couldn't do anything _but_ scream and writhe as he flicked his hot tongue against her, swirling and lapping over her clit. His hands came up to play with her breasts again, pinching her nipples with _just_ the right amount of pressure, and Jemma was utterly helpless against the climax that ripped through her, her whole body stiffening and shaking as her vision darkened.

And he didn't _stop_, not even when she begged because her clit was so sensitive it almost _hurt_. She came _again_, even harder, her ragged screams echoing off the walls. Brock _hummed_ and _kept on licking_.

Jemma let out a stream of swear words in half a dozen languages that made Brock raise his eyebrows and laugh silently to himself. Hidden depths, his demure-appearing little scientist, and damn if the thought didn't make him even hotter. He let go of one breast and slid his hand down to his waist, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down just far enough to free his cock. The sheet underneath him dragged painfully over his arousal and he realised he couldn't wait much longer. Jemma clearly didn't want him to anyway, not considering the way she was digging her heels into his back and snarling his name.

"I got you, baby girl." He wiped his chin briefly, licking his lips to catch the last traces of her before kissing up her stomach. "You not having a good time?" when she called him something very rude in German. "Where _did_ you pick up all these rude words?"

Jemma really didn't have enough functioning brain cells left to answer him at that moment, though if she had she'd have told him that she'd been to plenty of scientific conferences in any number of countries and scientists could be surprisingly rude if a girl half their age pointed out fundamental errors in their assumptions.

As it was, she just tried to wrap her legs around him as he moved up over her body, his mouth leaving a heated trail up her stomach.

"No," Brock growled, surprising her, and then he slid his arm under her left knee, hooking his elbow under it. "Like this."

Jemma wasn't going to protest, not when the angle he achieved as his rock-hard cock slid into her soaked tunnel felt _so damn good_. He watched her intently, leaning down over her as he stroked deeper, his expression tight with lust.

"God, you feel so fucking amazing, baby girl," Brock whispered as he pressed slowly deeper. She was wet, but swollen from his attentions, deliciously tight around him, tiny muscle tremors telling him that she was close to the edge again. "Gonna fuck you 'til you can't walk without thinking of me," it was a low snarl as he finally bottomed out inside her.

Jemma could barely move, had no leverage at all with the way he had her hands secured and her leg over his arm, but she writhed under him and tried to rotate her hips against the thrusts he began then, pulling only a little way out before slamming back in deep.

She'd never even imagined that sex could be this good, a tiny part of her brain noted through the sensual fog that clouded her thinking, and she wondered vaguely if it was something to do with the soulbond or if it was just that Brock was just _that damn good_.

The soulbond – _that's why he's holding onto my knee_, she realised. _He doesn't want the bond to complete_.

Her eyes widened slightly, but she was too far gone, the sensations coiling through her body too much for her to do anything but say incoherently; "Brock, please, just do it!" which she realised almost instantly hadn't got her meaning across when he growled and started thrusting faster, a calloused thumb coming down to press on her clit.

Jemma was helpless against that. She came with a rush, her vision darkening, feeling him thrust several more times before groaning and stilling, heat spreading through her insides telling her he'd achieved his own release. And then he was pressing slow kisses across her throat and shoulders, whispering what a good girl she'd been, reaching to release her hands before he slipped out of her and lay down beside her.

"Urrgh," Jemma couldn't actually move, she felt as though she'd been nailed to the bed, and Brock laughed and gathered her into his arms, kissing her flushed brow tenderly.

"Beautiful, amazing, passionate woman," he praised softly. "I'm so fucking lucky, I can't imagine what I've done to deserve you."

Jemma smiled, opened her eyes and looked at him. "Why didn't you do it then?

He lifted a mocking brow. "Thought I did, quite thoroughly."

"Not that! Well, yes, you did, _very_ thoroughly, actually…" Jemma could feel herself starting to babble under that intense dark stare, forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. "The soulbond. Why didn't you complete it?"

"Ah." He didn't look away, though, met her eyes directly and gave her the honesty she deserved. "Not yet, Jemma. Give it a little bit of time. The sex is good, crazy good, yeah, but you need to let the fog clear a little before making an informed decision. You don't know hardly anythin' about me yet."

Jemma melted. "I know you're honourable enough to give me the choice," she said softly, reaching to stroke his smooth, freshly-shaven jaw. "Thank you."

His hard mouth twisted. "Don't wanna," he confessed. "Want to make you mine, want to keep you. But this ain't the Dark Ages. I gotta let you choose, when your mind's clear and you can make an informed decision. With all the information."

Jemma sighed at the thought. "Talking of which," she murmured, "we do need to _talk_."

"I know." He finger-combed her tangled hair back from her face, smiling at the serious look she gave him. "I'll tell you everything. I promise. My HYDRA cover's fucked for good after that stunt I pulled to get you out, the only way forward for me now is to have Fury clear my name with Coulson – and the Avengers, because they're after me too – and for me to join the new SHIELD to fight against the Nazi bastards." He leaned forward and gave her a slow, lingering kiss. "But we're not going to have this conversation while sticky and sweaty and with empty stomachs, so let's get all washed up and I'll cook you breakfast."

"You cook, too? I'm definitely keeping you," Jemma said, and then squeaked as he got out of bed and swung her up easily into his arms, carrying her to the shower.

"I cook. I wash." He reached to turn the shower spray on, setting her on her feet in front of him. "I take care of _all_ my woman's _needs_." His voice dropped to that husky rasp again, black eyes heating, and Jemma felt to her astonishment his cock nudge against her belly.

"You can't possibly…!" she glanced down, wide-eyed.

His smile twisted. "I'm afraid I can. Enhanced, remember?" Seeing her shocked expression, he told her the part of the truth he'd figured out. "There aren't a lot of us. It's a dangerous process, but those of us who made it through came out not just quicker and stronger, but with certain of our, let's say, _animal_ instincts amped up. Sense of smell, hearing, eyesight. Aggression. I can't say I was ever exactly laid-back, but it takes a lot more control now not to react when I get angry. And apparently – lust."

"How _fascinating_," she said, her hazel eyes wide, and Brock barked out a short laugh and pulled her into the shower with him.

"I'm dangerous, Jemma," he told her. "They made me into a predator, even more than I was before. I don't know how deep the changes go, either. Sometimes I feel like I'm more wolf than man, these days."

She stared up at him for long moments, the warm water slicking her hair back from her face. There was barely room for both of them in the tiny shower stall, their bodies pressed close together. And then Jemma reached up and put her arms around his neck.

"Wolves mate for life, Brock."

**(No, he's not a werewolf. I'm not going there. It's an analogy).**

**Although were-Brock would be entertaining – that might be an idea for another fic someday…**

**plotbunny plotbunny plotbunny ARGH!**


	12. Animal Attraction

**Chapter Twelve – Animal Attraction**

_Duran Duran – Hungry Like The Wolf_

Jemma hadn't been sure whether to believe Brock when he said he could cook, but by the time she'd dressed, towel-dried and combed out her hair – after a very enjoyable ten minutes in the shower together, he'd left her to shampoo her hair on her own – he'd made pancakes and bacon, and was serving them up at the kitchen counter.

"How do you like your tea?" he asked, glancing across at her as she pulled up a stool and sat down. Jemma had to just sit and stare for a minute because he looked ridiculously good in just those low-hanging cargo pants and a dishtowel slung over one bare, thickly muscled shoulder.

"Jemma. Your tea?" Brock prompted.

"I'm afraid if you want sensible answers out of me, you'll need to put a shirt on," she confessed.

He had to laugh. Walking around the counter, he stopped to give her a long, slow kiss before heading back into the bedroom. Returning a few moments later in a tight grey T-shirt – Rollins was a little taller but not as broad as he was – he spread his arms. "Better?"

"Not much, honestly," Jemma admitted. "You're too sexy for your own good."

"I like the way you look at me," he traced a finger down her spine, making her shiver, and _how_ was it possible that her body was responding to his touch again already, when not fifteen minutes ago he'd fucked her to a very satisfying conclusion (again) up against the wall of the shower? She stared up at him, lips parted, and he had to turn away.

"Eat, Jemma. You need your strength. There's a blizzard on and we'll likely be trapped here for a couple of days, I'm sorry. I never thought to check the weather forecast before coming up here."

Now that she listened, she could hear the howl of the wind outside. But in here – well, in here it was warm and quiet and filled with the scent of delicious man and almost as delicious breakfast. He tapped on the edge of her plate, brows raised, and Jemma blinked and took a bite.

"So. Tea?" Brock frowned at Jemma. She seemed extremely distracted, only taking a bite when he reminded her, her pupils blown right out. "Jemma? Are you all right?"

There was definitely something not quite right, but Jemma couldn't quite figure out what it was. She just knew that all she wanted was to touch Brock, to have him touch her again. He moved closer to her and she breathed in deeply, sucking in more of that delicious, intangible scent that rose from his skin.

"Smell so good," she mumbled distractedly.

Brock frowned, and grabbed the cup of strong black coffee he'd made for himself. "Sniff." He shoved it under Jemma's nose.

She sniffed and made a face. "Ew, coffee!" her expression cleared. And then she blinked. "Wait."

"Fuck, fuck, _shit_!" he figured it out at the same time as she did.

"Pheromones," Jemma guessed, keeping the coffee cup under her nose and breathing it in – even though it stank to high heaven, at least it cleared her head a little. "Do women normally react like this to your scent?"

"I haven't had sex with another woman since before I was enhanced," Brock backed away from her, getting as far away as the room would allow. "I'm sorry, Jemma, I don't know how to turn it _off_…"

"It's all right, it's not your fault," she said, trying to keep her head clear, looking away from him and breathing in the revolting coffee smell. "I thought it was just the soulbond trying to form and, well, mutual attraction yesterday. But this is way more than that. I can't think of anything else when you're close, and even the shower obviously hasn't helped matters."

"I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry." He thought of something, then. "Shit, that bastard."

"What?"

"Rollins. He used to do all right with women before, but afterwards they were all over him, when he was in the mood, anyway. He must have figured out how to switch it on and off at will." Brock shook his head in disgust. "But I've no idea how to control it, I wasn't even aware I was _doing_ it!" it had to be an involuntary reaction of his body to Jemma's presence, he thought grimly. _So much for leaving her free choice_. He might as well be using HYDRA's damned sex pollen on her. Shit, that stuff was probably based on his new body chemistry. He ground his teeth at the thought.

"It's all right, Brock, I understand you're not doing it on purpose." Jemma took another deep sniff of the coffee. "Yeuch, I'm going to vomit if I have to breathe in too much of this stuff. Can you see if there's any cotton balls in the bathroom? I can maybe use them as nose plugs. It's obviously scent-driven since the coffee smell is overriding it…"

He returned a couple of minutes later, setting a half bag of cotton balls in front of her, and Jemma very ungracefully stuffed two of them up her nose.

After a couple of minutes, though, the light-headed, frantically lustful feeling began to dissipate. Jemma looked up at Brock, standing near the outer door, almost as though he was ready to flee again.

"That worked. You're still hot like the sun but I'm no longer feeling the frantic need to jump your bones," she told him.

Brock's lips twitched as he manfully suppressed a laugh. God, but she was adorable, even with two lumps of cotton poking out her nostrils.

"Hmm. All very interesting. I'd have to take some skin swabs, find out where on your body the pheromones are being released from, investigate the chemical makeup of the substance," Jemma mused, picked up her fork and took another bite of her breakfast. "Oh. And I like my tea with a little milk, no sugar."

He couldn't help but chuckle as she reverted to being a scientist again, mumbling theories to herself as she ate her breakfast and drank the tea he made for her. He ate his own food silently and swiftly, fuelling up efficiently. Knowing he needed to eat about fifty per cent more calories than he used to, to keep his body running at peak efficiency.

Rumlow even washed up. Jemma leaned her elbows on the counter and watched him with unabashed fascination. Even without that _scent_ clouding her brain, he was wonderful to watch, every movement smooth and economic, muscles rippling under his tight shirt.

"I'm actually quite domesticated," he glanced over at her, drying his hands on the dishtowel. "I'm not the slobby bachelor type. The Army kicked any of that shit out of me."

"You were in the Army? How did you end up with SHIELD?" Jemma asked with interest.

"It's kind of the other way around." He gestured for her to sit on the couch, perched on the arm at the other end, watching her. "It's not a pretty story."

"Tell me," she requested quietly, and he sighed.

"I told you about my parents. After they were killed, wasn't nobody to take me in. Neither of them had family, so I went to a State home. I was a vicious little shit – hadn't grown up easy, not with a crooked cop for a father and a whore for a mother – so I wasn't never gonna get adopted. Michigan weren't big on orphanages, though, not for kids as young as I was, so they found me a foster family. First night, my foster father came into my room and pulled my pants down."

Jemma flinched, hand going to her mouth with horror, her eyes brimming with tears. Brock never looked away, though, just kept talking in that flat, unemotional tone.

"I'd guessed he was gonna try it, filched a steak knife from the kitchen at dinnertime. Stabbed him in the guts and took off into the night. I found a place on the streets, scavenging for scraps, stealing, running errands for the gangs. Wouldn't sell myself, though. Nobody touched me without my permission." He smiled wryly. "I was a big kid for my age, reached my full height fairly early. I was twelve passin' for sixteen when I picked Nick Fury's pocket."

"You _what!_" Jemma's eyes almost fell out of her head.

"Got away with it too. He never felt a damn thing. Unfortunately, the paranoid bastard had trackers in his wallet. I was three blocks away and thinking I'd got away clear when I rounded a corner and he was sittin' there in an SUV." He grinned reminiscently, thinking about it. "One look and I knew I'd had it."

He'd still run, though. Had led Fury a merry chase through the dangerous back streets of Detroit until he was finally cornered. He'd thrown the wallet back at Fury then "Take it! Ya too much fuckin' trouble!"

But of course Fury wasn't willing to let him go. He'd seen something in him. Had taken the vicious, feral boy from the streets, washed and fed him and sat him down, telling him bluntly that on his current path he'd be dead or locked up for life by his eighteenth birthday. Brock had listened.

"He gave me a new name and sent me to school. Military prep school. It wasn't much different from juvie, probably, except the kids there were mostly children of hard-nosed Army types. I fit right in, to my surprise, I was as vicious as any of them and just as smart. Caught up on the schoolin' I'd missed and joined up when I was eighteen." He grinned slightly. "Accordin' to the papers Fury made me, anyway. I was actually not quite fifteen. By my real twentieth birthday I'd been through OCS and was a Green Beret."

"But you kept in touch with Director Fury," Jemma guessed.

"He wasn't Director then. Peggy Carter was still in charge, and she was a hard-nosed bitch if ever there was one, let me tell you. Nick and I would catch up once a year or so. Drink a bar in some third-world hellhole dry."

Jemma tried, and completely failed, to imagine Brock and Nick Fury hell-raising in a dusty bar somewhere, drinking local alcohol that was probably one small step from methylated spirits. She shook her head, starting to smile. "I see why you're Fury's man."

"He is the one single person in my life who I've ever actually called a friend." Brock smiled faintly. "I didn't even join SHIELD for him. Military types who exceed certain criteria automatically get onto SHIELD's radar for recruitment, and I was the best damn attack commander in the Green Berets. Peggy Carter herself called me in, interviewed me and recruited me for STRIKE. They needed a new deputy commander, their last one just bit the dust. Nick was actually livid when he found out, told me I was a fucking idiot and I'd just sold myself into that early grave he'd rescued me from."

Peggy Carter had retired a year later, Nick had stepped up into the Director's job – and HYDRA had suddenly started coming out of the shadows, with the Iron Bitch gone. Brock had been shocked when he realised just what he was being approached for, but guessing he was buying a bullet in the head on his next mission if he said no, he'd accepted with every appearance of eagerness – and immediately let Nick know.

"He told me to stay in place. To play along. We had no idea then how deep the rot ran. Nineteen fucking _years_ I've played along, Jemma, burrowed deeper and deeper into HYDRA. It nearly fucked _everything_ up when they brought the Winter Soldier out of cryo, though. I managed to convince the commanders to let me run him in the field, and I think he took to me – God, some of them treated him like an animal, Jemma, it was _sick_. Especially considering who he used to be." He blinked at Jemma's blank expression. "You don't know?"

"Know what? I know about the Winter Soldier, of course, there was a bit of footage of him around after HYDRAgate…"

"Is that what you called it?" Brock smiled bitterly. "HYDRA call it the New Dawn. The Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes, Jemma. James Buchanan Barnes, Howling Commando, Captain America's right-hand man. They found him after he fell off that train back in '44 and turned him into the Fist of HYDRA, their ultimate weapon. Kept him in cryogenic storage between missions. I met him a few times over the years, but he never really remembered – they kept wiping his memories."

Jemma listened with horror as Brock detailed what had been done to Barnes. His anger and distress on the other man's behalf was very clear. HYDRA had treated Barnes like a rabid attack dog. The quiet respect Brock had offered when the two men had to work together had, he liked to think, been the first kindness anyone had shown Barnes in years.

"It meant he listened to me when I gave him orders to shoot to miss, when we were sent after Rogers and Romanoff," Rumlow finished. "I couldn't override all his orders, but I was able to force that much. Coming face to face with Rogers broke his programming, though, and even when they wiped him again he wasn't blank. He disappeared after the Helicarriers went down. I was sent to track him, did a deliberately bad job for a while, finally managed to catch him with no witnesses and gave him a pile of cash and all my weapons, told him to knock me unconscious. As far as I know he's still on the loose, but they took me off the case after that."

Jemma could hardly believe what he was telling her, but he had no reason to lie about it. She listened as he talked, telling her how he'd been sabotaging HYDRA operations from within for years, none of them any the wiser.

"I did a lot of things I'm not very fucking proud of," Brock admitted. "Got a lot of stains on my soul, Jemma. Pointed the finger at others when suspicions arose, planted evidence and killed men with my own hands, claiming they were the ones who'd leaked the secrets."

"They were all HYDRA, though, weren't they?"

"Yes, but I can't swear that my actions didn't lead to good men and women dying. A lot of people died in the Triskelion, and even though it was on Fury's orders that I launched the Helicarriers so that Rogers could bring them down – I don't know. That's a lot of red in my ledger, as Romanoff would say."

"Bobbi always says that the difference between Coulson and Fury," Jemma said thoughtfully, "is that Fury always had an acceptable casualty rate in mind, and Coulson says his acceptable casualty rate is zero."

Rumlow grimaced. "Sounds about right. I have to say I'm leaning more towards Coulson's point of view these days. There's more than enough blood on my hands. Eighty fucking people yesterday alone, Jemma. Though I'd do that again in a heartbeat and not even think twice, because that was for your sake."

It was Jemma's turn to make a face, even though intellectually she knew that if Brock hadn't blown the facility up, she at least would be dead and quite likely he would be too. He held her eyes, his expression calm.

"My conscience is pretty fucked, Jemma. I'm not even sure what's right and wrong half the time. And with HYDRA's enhancements, my instincts are – well, I'm not a good man. I'm not sure I ever was, considering what I've come from, the things I've done – without remorse. I'm not much for regrets."

She sat for long moments watching him in silence, as he shifted restlessly, ran his hand through his hair. "I see what you're doing," she said finally.

"And what's that?" he frowned.

"You're going through this whole guilt thing. Like you feel that you don't deserve to be happy, that it's somehow wrong because of your past. Brock, you've just told me that you've spent _nineteen years _undercover in HYDRA. I spent _three months_ undercover in one of their labs and by the end of that I was doubting my _own_ choices."

He blinked. "_You_ were undercover with HYDRA?"

"Yes, Phil needed someone on the inside and – well, I needed to be away from the team for a little while. I met Daniel Whitehall and had a run-in with Sunil Bakshi…"

"_Bakshi!_" Brock was on his feet in an instant.

"Yes... he's in custody now. Ward gave him up…"

"Fuck, Jemma, that won't last long. Bakshi's one of us. One of the ones who got enhanced. I seriously doubt a prison could hold him, especially if they didn't know what he was. You got on the wrong side of him?"

"I'm afraid so," Jemma said a bit weakly.

"He'll come after you," Brock said with certainty. "He holds grudges."

"Oh dear." She felt herself paling, at the memory of Bakshi's hard dark eyes on her. There'd been a certain animal attraction to him too, though, she remembered unwillingly, and realised that it must have been the same type of pheromones that Brock unconsciously released.

"I'll kill him, Jemma," Brock vowed quietly. "I'll never let him get to you. _Never_."

She looked at him, watching her intently, leaning forward with his big hands clenched into fists at the mere thought of a threat to her. And slowly, she reached up and tugged the cotton out of her nose.

"What are you doing?" his eyes widened.

"Well," Jemma said, deliberately taking in a deep breath. "You keep promising to let me suck your cock. I'm going to need to breathe."

OCS = Officer Candidate School, where promising non-commissioned personnel are sent to be turned into 'real' officers.

(At least – in the military organisation I know. Not sure if the US Army and the Green Berets work exactly the same way, but I'm guessing it's similar)

**Smuthanger! But it'll be the last one for a while. Plot is about to go CRAAAAZZZEEEE quite shortly.**

**And to all of you? Please stop encouraging the were-Brock thing. TOO MANY BAD IDEAS.**


	13. I'll Remind You

**Chapter Thirteen – I'll Remind You**

_Nickelback – How You Remind Me_

Brock was the one who had to take in deep breaths as Jemma got onto her knees on the couch and crawled towards him. "Jemma," he said thickly as she reached him and put her hands on his knees, pushing them a little further apart.

She lifted a laughing eyebrow at him. "I think you're all talk, big guy. Too scared to let me put my mouth on you in case you suddenly find you're _not_ the one in charge."

"You're such a little madam." His cock was hardening fast at the look she was giving him. Her pupils weren't blown out, though. "The scent…?"

"Barely there, right now." She took in another deep breath, gave him an impish grin. "Getting stronger, though." Her slim fingers started walking up his inner thighs, and she looked up at him from under her lashes. "This is _me_, Brock, not just animal instincts._ I_ want this."

"I think you already know I can't say no to you," he muttered as her fingers reached his groin, traced over the swelling shape of his arousal behind the heavy fabric of his cargo pants.

"You managed quite well when I was begging earlier," Jemma said tartly, fumbling with the button at his waist.

"That's different – get your clothes off, Jemma, if you're gonna do this I'm gonna need to fuck you again after."

She smiled, took her hands off his pants and unzipped her hoodie, shrugging it off. "You too. It's a crime to cover up that chest of yours anyway."

He grinned, peeling off his T-shirt and throwing it aside carelessly. "You told me to put this on!"

"You were distracting me!" She was all fingers and thumbs trying to get out of her clothes as she stared hungrily at him, and he reached to help, expertly unclipping her bra and removing it, reaching to chafe her already-hard nipples with his rough fingertips. "Aaah, yes, oh, _Brock_, wait, no!"

"No?" he pressed her down against the couch, grinning.

"No, you promised!"

"Did not." He kissed her hungrily, grinding his arousal between her thighs, and even through his pants and her jeans he could feel she was hot and likely getting very wet. "Ouch!" he flinched back. She'd jabbed two sharp fingers right into a sensitive spot between two ribs.

"Get those pants off right now because I am going to blow your mind," Jemma told him sternly. She could _feel_ his scent coiling around her, stealing her will, but she was determined to do this before she lost her mind entirely.

"Troublesome little madam," he groused, getting off her and standing up.

"Stop _arguing_, Brock, any other man alive would be delighted at the offer!"

His pants fell to his ankles as he shoved them down. Brock was suddenly shaking, though. "Nobody else," he said harshly. "I can't – Jemma, the thought of any other man _touching_ you – don't say things like that, it makes me…"

It was a _blast_ of scent, almost knocking her sideways. Jemma barely retained enough brain function to sit up, reach out and grab for him, her hands curling around his tight ass, pulling him closer as she opened her mouth. She kept her eyes on his as she sucked him in, taking him as deep as she could manage on the first pass.

Brock made a guttural sound deep in his chest, his hands coming down to slide into Jemma's hair. She looked even more beautiful than he'd imagined with her mouth on his cock, her wide eyes fixed on his as her cheeks hollowed. Her slender hands slipped from his ass, one curling around the base of his cock, the other slipping between his legs to caress his balls. He widened his stance, locking his shaking knees.

"Oh, baby girl," he groaned out as she began to bob her head, still gazing up at him. With each pass she took him a little deeper until he could feel her throat muscles working around his head as she swallowed him down. "Shit, yeah, that's it, you're so good. _Uhn_," as her hands tightened.

He looked so _unguarded_ in that moment, his mouth slightly open, dark eyes half-lidded as he stared down at her. His hands were in her hair, but he wasn't gripping, wasn't forcing himself into her mouth, was just holding steady as she controlled the pace and depth of the blow job. And then she saw his jaw clench.

"Stop," Brock muttered, "stop, Jemma…" She sucked harder, almost setting him off, until he tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her back. "I said stop."

"Want to taste you," she panted, trying to lick at his cock again. "Please. Want you to come down my throat, want it…" her pupils were blown wide, and he frowned, realising she'd lost the battle against his scent again.

"Not until I've got control over this thing," he muttered. "Until then – I'm gonna make sure you're having at least as much fun as I am." Pulling free of her hands gently, he bent over her, kicking free of the pants still tangled around his ankles and making short work of stripping off her jeans and panties. "Come on, bed."

"No, here!" Jemma was frantic, couldn't wait. "Please! Let me sit on your lap, _please_, Brock…"

He couldn't fucking well resist her. He hesitated only a moment, considered the position of his soulmark – no, she wouldn't be able to get hers against it if she knelt astride him. And then he sat down and pulled her onto his lap facing him, big hands coming up to cover her breasts. "Like this, baby girl, this what you want?" His cock was between her legs, sliding along her vulva as she rubbed herself against him frantically, slick juices coating him almost instantly.

"Yes, oh God," Jemma's head tipped back and she let out a throaty moan as his strong hands curled under her ass, lifted her, positioned her so that the thick tip of his cock was just teasing at her entrance. "Please, Brock," she almost whimpered it as he held her still, prevented her from grinding down on him.

"Here you go, baby girl, I got what you want," he muttered thickly, and lowered her slowly.

Jemma's hands settled on his shoulders, her nails digging into the thick muscle. Eyes closed, she looked utterly beautiful, sensually abandoned as she gave herself over to him, leaning back as he thrust up slowly into her tight heat. Brock kept one hand on her ass to control the rhythm, brought the other one in front and slipped it between them to play with her clit, pulsing and swollen under his fingers.

"Feel good, baby girl?" he asked softly.

Jemma was too far gone to speak. Could only let out incoherent, frantic noises as he fucked her, showing her quite clearly that even though she was on top he was still in control, still could do anything he wanted with her.

Right up until the moment when she came, tight slick muscles squeezing around him, and Brock realised his control was a total illusion as his own climax _ripped_ out of him, leaving him gasping for air, spent, Jemma lying against his chest with her head on his shoulder as she panted.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he mumbled, pressing kisses to the top of her head. "I can't keep up."

She snorted, and the sudden clench around him made him groan again. "Right. Hah. Super-soldier," she poked him in the chest, leaned back and pointed at herself. "Lab nerd. Somehow I don't think it's going to be _you_ who can't keep up."

"I'm seventeen years older than you," he called after her as she clambered off him and headed to the bathroom – walking bow-legged, he saw with a twinge of guilt.

"Super-soldier!" she shouted back. Returning a couple of minutes later, she would have reached for her clothes to dress again, except that he grabbed her and tugged her into his arms for a snuggle. And she certainly wasn't going to say no to that, not when she got to curl into all that delicious muscular male warmth.

"Don't call me that," he mumbled, kissing her hair. "That's what Rogers became. I – _we're_ not that. We're not worthy to be considered in that category. We're enhanced, that's all. Less than human, rather than more, considering what we've become."

"Don't you ever _dare_ say that again," Jemma jabbed him hard in the ribs with her elbow. He didn't even flinch, just raised a dark eyebrow at her. "You're very much human, Brock. The day you stop believing that is the day you become the beast HYDRA tried to make you into. Don't let them do that to you."

His expression softened into a smile. "Maybe that's why I have you," he said quietly. "To remind me."

"Every day," she promised, cuddling closer to him, tucking her head into the curve of his neck. "Promise. I'll remind you… every… day…"

Brock was a little surprised when Jemma's breathing slowed and she drifted off to sleep in his arms. She'd slept a fair few hours the night before. But then they'd been having a good deal of sex, too, and while she was obviously fit – slender, but there was lean muscle there – she was never going to be able to match his stamina. He cuddled her for a few minutes, and then sighed and carried her to bed, tucking her in warmly. He'd better see about making some proper food while she had a nap. He'd found the right canned ingredients in the pantry for a decent stew, and while there was no yeast he could make some flatbreads to go with it.

Jemma woke feeling really quite unwell. Her throat was scratchy, her eyes sore, and her nose felt stuffy. She lay still for a moment, assessing her physical condition professionally. Tried an experimental cough.

"Oh, bloody hell, it's a head cold."

"Jemma?" Brock was close, she realised, and turned her head to see him sitting beside her on the bed, propped up against the pillows, a book in his hand. "I wanted to stay near you," he muttered when she gave him a quizzical look. "What did you say about a head cold?"

"I think I've got one," she croaked, feeling vaguely disgusted with herself for her weakness.

_Damn_. But then, it was no surprise. Not considering the last couple of days, the shocks and abuse, the cold weather. Her body's resistance was lowered.

"Oh, baby girl," Brock laid aside the book and tugged her into his arms, feeling her sudden shiver with concern. "It's all right. Gonna take care of you. We'll have you feeling better in no time." His mind was racing, though, taking a fast inventory of the cabin's supplies. Rollins hadn't exactly been thorough in his stocking up, and since the enhanced soldiers didn't get sick – Rumlow couldn't think of a single thing that would help Jemma, there was no aspirin or ibuprofen…

"You stay here. I'm gonna go make you a hot cup of tea, find something for you to use to blow your nose."

"I'm not that sick," Jemma pushed herself up into a sitting position as he climbed out of bed.

"Stay there!" he whirled and pointed a finger at her. "You are gonna stay there and let me fuss over you, make you feel better as quick as I can, you hear me?"

_Well._

If he hadn't been completely adorable before, he certainly was now. Jemma snuggled down into bed, smiling despite how rotten she was feeling. _I can put up with him fussing over me. I think I might quite like it, actually…_

He brought her hot tea, cut a spare sheet into squares for her to use as handkerchiefs. Fed her an extremely delicious stew he'd made while she slept, and afterwards took her head on his lap and massaged her aching temples while he told her amusing stories of silly fuckups that had happened while he was STRIKE team leader, making her laugh weakly.

"There's one good thing about this," Jemma mumbled hoarsely. It was night now, and she was lying sprawled on the bed wearing only a T-shirt and panties, because she felt so hot. Her head was pillowed on his thigh and his big hands were stroking her hair gently.

"There is nothing good about you being sick, baby girl!"

She smiled. "My nose is blocked."

He stilled for a moment, and then sighed. "Oh, the scent thing."

"That's right. It's not affecting me, not that I'm in any mood for sexytimes despite your smoking hot bod."

"That is also not a good thing," he couldn't help but murmur. Even sick, with a red nose and runny eyes, she was beautiful to him.

"Yes, but it means we're able to _talk_. Get to know each other without all the crazy need-to-fuck-like-bunnies stuff going on. Not that I wasn't enjoying that part, of course."

Brock laughed again. "Ah, Jemma." He paused, and then told her the truth. "I am falling so hard for you."

She smiled against his leg, her eyes closed. "The feeling's mutual."

"Still think I don't deserve you, though."

"Shut up." She pinched him on the inner thigh, making him twitch slightly. "_I'll_ decide that, not you."

"Troublesome little madam."

"Bossy, domineering man," she responded, but there was a smile on her lips. "Now go and get me another cup of tea."

He sighed, eased off the bed and headed for the kitchen. When he returned with the cup a few minutes later, though, she was asleep. He sat down beside her, stroked her hair gently. Frowned as he realised how hot her brow felt. She was running a fever.

_Shit, what if this is worse than a head cold?_ His jaw clenched and he tried not to panic. If it was the flu – Jemma's health could be in serious danger. For the umpteenth time he cursed Rollins under his breath for leaving his safehouse so badly stocked. And then he eased quietly out of bed.

_First things first. Check the radio._

While it was still snowing, the blizzard was over. But the weather report told him that there would only be a day or two of respite before the weather worsened again. Brock scowled. The weather wasn't leaving him much choice. He was going to have to leave Jemma and make his way out tomorrow, find a four-wheel-drive and come back for her. The sedan he'd stolen would never even make it back to the road, almost a mile away down a rough track. Brock could do it on foot and hitch a ride once he got there, with the snowplow crews if nothing else. But he couldn't take Jemma with him, not out into the weather, not without knowing how long he might be out there waiting before he got picked up.

The thought of leaving her tore at his heart, but he had no choice. Not now she was sick.

"Tomorrow," he muttered, slipping back into the cabin and closing the door. "I'll go tomorrow."

"He was _your_ commanding officer!" Sunil Bakshi shouted. "What the _hell_ could have made him flip like that? The research at that facility was irreplaceable!"

Rollins shrugged, his eyes closed. He was still recovering from the burns he'd received when the New Dawn came, was only two weeks out of a coma. "I've no idea. Rumlow was even more dedicated than me." He opened an eye, took in Bakshi's enraged face. "If that's possible."

"This _bloody_ woman," Bakshi muttered. "Why is she always at the centre of my problems?"

"A woman?" Rollins opened the other eye now, curious. "What woman?"

"Dr Jemma Simmons. She's one of Coulson's people, part of New SHIELD. She was snatched by mistake. Dr Gunther didn't recognise her and threw her to Rumlow to dispose of. Instead he took her and blew up the whole facility."

"Huh," Rollins muttered. Something was tickling at the back of his mind. "Did you know Rumlow has a soulmark? He was real private about it, but I saw it one time in the showers after a mission. Said somethin' like _please don't kill me_."

"Is that right," Bakshi's eyes narrowed. He pulled out a tablet and started tapping, calling up files. "Hm. Dr Simmons has one too. Says _Shh, you need to trust me, I'll get you out of here_."

"Sounds like a match to me," Rollins murmured.

"Maybe he _hasn't_ turned, then. Maybe he just thought it was the only way he'd get to keep his soulmate." Bakshi started pacing, tapping his fingernails on the tablet's edge in a rhythm that made Rollins want to grind his teeth. "The question is, where's he taken her? He was caught on camera at a shopping mall in Asheville, and then he just completely disappeared. Where would he have gone to hide out, Jack? We know he hasn't gone to Coulson because Coulson's people are turning stones everywhere looking for Dr Simmons themselves."

Wheels began to turn, slowly, in Rollins' mind. "I – might have an idea of where to look. What do you want done with him?"

"We need to bring him in. Find out what side he's on. If he's truly HYDRA, he's too valuable to lose – we'd even let him keep the woman, bitch though she is. And if he _isn't_ with us, well, we can use _her_ to control _him_ – plus we can perhaps use her to lure Coulson in as well. If you can find them, Rollins, you'll be well rewarded."

"In that case," Rollins stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders, testing his muscles, "there's a few things I'm going to need."

**DA DA DA DUNNN.**

**That train wreck's a'comin'…**


	14. You'll Come Back?

**Chapter Fourteen – You'll Come Back?**

_Passenger – Let Her Go_

Jemma slept only intermittently, waking to cough, or with the hot and cold shakes. Every time, though, Brock was there, giving her a drink, soothing her, cooling her hot brow with a cool wet cloth.

"You're a very good nurse," she mumbled sometime around dawn.

"Only for you, baby girl." He kissed her brow tenderly. "Always gonna take care of you."

She fumbled for his hand, gripped it. "Definitely keeping you," she muttered before dropping back into an exhausted slumber.

She was a little better when she woke the next time, and Brock made her pancakes and convinced her to eat them, sitting up in bed, before he broke the news that he'd have to go.

Jemma stared at Brock, willing herself not to cry. She wasn't this pathetic, she tried to tell herself sternly. It was because she felt so ill that the tears were welling in her eyes. His reasoning made perfect sense.

"You'll come back?" she said a bit pathetically.

"Jemma!" Shocked at the expression on her face, he pulled her into his arms. "I will be back in a few hours. Nightfall at the absolute latest. I'd never leave you alone if I didn't have to, baby girl, I swear it. I'm going to set up a time-delay message," he decided, "to safeguard you – that if I don't log into my account and delete it, a message will go to Coulson at midnight tonight, give him the co-ordinates of this place. He could come and get you, then, take you somewhere safe."

"You don't have to do that," Jemma mumbled into his neck, feeling silly. "I know you'll come back."

"Nothing is more important than your safety, baby girl, _nothing_. I'll set that message up as soon as I get phone signal, even before I try and contact Fury. Make sure you're gonna be safe even if something happens to me." He held her tightly. "I don't want to leave you, but if you get sicker I'll never forgive myself. The storm will worsen again tomorrow and we won't get out. I have to get you out today."

"Go then," she hugged him tighter for a moment, and then let go. "I'll be okay. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back, right?"

"That's right." He kissed her, uncaring of her red nose. "Let me make you comfortable first."

Brock left her with a jug of lemon juice by the bed, a fresh cup of hot tea, and snacks in easy reach. Tucked her into bed and admonished her to stay there before tugging on his boots, clipping his weapons harness over his chest and zipping his jacket shut over it.

She was not going to cry. She was absolutely _not_ going to cry. Jemma covered the tears by blowing her nose repeatedly, but suspected Brock knew anyway, because he gave her one more rough, fierce hug and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before leaving.

Rumlow had to fight the urge to turn around and head straight back to Jemma. To take care of her, to promise never to leave her. _I can best take care of her this way_, he told himself firmly, pulling on the snowshoes he'd found in the utility room under the cabin. At least that was reasonably well stocked, with some survival gear and a safe under the floorboards it had taken him all of ten minutes to find and crack.

Plenty of cash and a number of fake ID's, not his photo but that could be easily fixed once he got access to a computer. He claimed the lot. It wasn't like Rollins would have need of it. He'd still been in the Triskelion, battling the Falcon, when the building collapsed. Wilson had jumped out to a helicopter, but Rollins had been crushed in the rubble.

_Good bloody riddance too_. Rumlow grimaced, remembering the sadism of his former second-in-command. Rollins had enjoyed the dirty part of their job, that was for sure. And using his altered body chemistry to seduce women, which Brock was now sure he'd done – that was the lowest of the low, as bad as date-rape drugs. He shook his head, spat to clear the foul taste the thought left in his mouth, and headed out into the snow-covered landscape.

Jemma fell asleep once Brock had left, and woke feeling a little better. She felt sticky and sweaty, so had a quick wash and pulled clothes on, deciding that she needed to be out of bed for a little while. She found the book Brock had been reading – a Robert Ludlum thriller, one she hadn't read; well, that would do to keep her entertained for a little while. She settled on the couch with a blanket around her and a cup of tea at her elbow and began to read.

She was only on the third chapter when a very familiar noise made her look up. _Quinjet engines?_

Jemma wasn't well, her brain clouded with fever. It was the only explanation, she thought later, as to why she just assumed it had to be May coming to get her. That Skye had somehow tracked Brock's other phone. After all, Brock had assured her Rollins was dead and no one else knew about this place.

Jemma pulled on her trainers and hastily zipped her hoodie, heading over to the cabin door and opening it. There was a clearing in front of the house, white over with snow, the car they'd come in just a thicker lump over to one side. The quinjet settled into the middle of the clearing, the rear ramp lowering, and a black-clad figure came striding out.

_Hunter_, Jemma thought, seeing the way he moved, and smiled. The smile dropped off her face a second later as his head cleared the body of the jet and he turned to look at her, a nasty smile appearing on a face she remembered only too well.

_Oh dear God it's Rollins. He's alive._

She hadn't told Brock, but she'd had a run-in with Rollins once before the incident at the Hub when she'd been looking at Rumlow and Rollins had made a crude remark about her. It was about six years ago: she'd been finishing her trauma-medicine training and Rollins had been brought in from a mission with a vicious gash from his lower lip to his chin. Her supervisor had directed Jemma to stitch it, watched as Jemma put in a long row of tiny, neat stitches, and left for a few minutes to check on a more seriously wounded patient.

"It'll scar, I'm afraid," Jemma had started to babble under Rollins' hard stare, as she carefully tied off the last stitch. "I'm sorry about that."

"Some girls don't mind scars." He'd licked his upper lip lasciviously. "How 'bout you, pretty? Gonna give the wounded hero a kiss?" A strong arm had snaked around her waist, trying to pull her closer. She'd yelped and wriggled away quickly, and fortunately her supervisor had come back in then, but Jemma had been aware of Rollins' hot, hungry stare on her as she made a hasty excuse and fled. She'd seen him looking at her a few times after that but made excuses to avoid him, and he moved on to easier prey soon enough.

Jemma could never forget that scarred visage, those cold dark eyes, though. She froze for a moment, paralysed with terror, as she saw Rollins' smile. And then she ran, her natural instincts kicking in, even though her brain was screaming that it was hopeless, there was nowhere to run, she couldn't possibly escape… she floundered in the knee-deep snow and he was on her in a moment, powerful hand at the nape of her neck forcing her to her knees.

"No!" she shouted hoarsely at him. "Don't touch me! He'll kill you!"

"Will he, indeed," the dark voice she'd heard in her nightmares, for weeks after that incident where he'd tried to kiss her, purred in her ear. "I don't think Rumlow's here right now, is he, pretty? Don't know why he's left you alone but it was a silly, silly move. Check the place," Rollins jerked his head to the commando team he'd brought with him.

He wasn't a fool. If Rumlow was indeed inside, better to let _them_ go in and be cannon fodder while Rollins had the human shield. He fisted his gloved hand in Jemma's hair and dragged her to her feet. She yelped, twisting her hands up to try and push him off, but he pushed them down easily, struck her a ringing blow to the side of the head.

"Clear, sir!" one of the commandos yelled a moment later.

"Good." Rollins started to drag a dazed Jemma towards the cabin. "I didn't recognise your name, you know," he told her conversationally. "But I remember you now. Uppity little bitch thought you were too good for me, huh? I'll show you different. Fuck you good on my bed. Show you how a real man does it." He licked at her neck from behind, his free hand groping at her breasts as he dragged her towards the door, and Jemma let out a horrified, repulsed scream.

"Ugh," Rollins turned his head and spat. She tasted _wrong_. "You're sick," he realised. "That's why he's left you. Gone to get help."

"He's on his way back," Jemma cried desperately, twisting, trying to get away from his cruel grip in her hair. "He'll kill you!"

Rollins chuckled. "Oh, I don't think so, pretty. I really don't think so." He dragged her inside, shoved her towards the bedroom, never letting go of his grip on her hair. He'd fuck this uppity little bitch good, show her he was more of a man than Brock Rumlow any day…

Three steps into the cabin, Rollins froze.

_Predator_, his hindbrain screamed at him. "I'm the predator here," he said aloud, but he couldn't shake the feeling. He tried to push Jemma closer to the bedroom, but couldn't make his legs take the step. He could almost _feel_ Rumlow's hard eyes on him. His breath came quicker, his arousal dying rapidly.

"Put her in the jet," Rollins reversed course abruptly, throwing Jemma at the feet of one of the men waiting outside the door. "Secure her for transport. Bakshi wants to talk to her."

"Rumlow will come for me," Jemma gasped, as the commando jerked her arms roughly behind her back and handcuffed her wrists. "You won't want to be there when he does."

The man actually hesitated, and she could see a look of fear on his face. So this man knew Brock, then. Knew what he was capable of.

"Shut up, bitch," He dragged her up finally and forced her into the quinjet. "Save your breath. You'll be singing all your secrets for Mr Bakshi soon enough."

Brock returned to the cabin a little after noon, driving a pickup truck with snow chains on the tires. He'd actually borrowed rather than stolen it. He'd gone into the drugstore and grabbed some things for Jemma's cold, and had been telling the kindly cashier about how his girlfriend was sick and they were stranded, when the lady offered him her truck.

He'd been somewhat stunned that she was willing to trust him to return it. He didn't exactly have the most open and honest of faces. But then she'd laughed and told him her sister ran the motel in town, and it was likely the place he'd take his girlfriend anyway, so she knew she'd get her truck back. He insisted she take two hundred dollars of Rollins' purloined stash as payment, and she hadn't objected too hard.

He bumped around the last bend into the clearing in front of the cabin and concentrated on parking as close to the door as he could manage. He didn't want Jemma out in the cold any longer than necessary. He could carry her to the truck, make sure she didn't get wet. He left the engine running so the cab would stay warm and hopped out.

It was snowing again, but only lightly, which explained how he missed the distinctive marks the quinjet had made when it set down. Plus he was eager to get to Jemma. He opened the cabin door, kicking the snow off his boots, calling her name.

Silence. Rumlow smiled slightly. "You asleep, baby girl?" he said more softly, heading towards the bedroom. The bed was neatly made, a piece of paper folded in the middle of it. He froze stock still, eyes on that paper.

_She left me. She called Coulson somehow and left me_… even as the thought came, he knew it was ridiculous. He snatched the paper off the bed and unfolded it with shaking hands.

_Thanks for the housewarming gift. JR._

Rumlow's howl of rage shook the cabin walls.

**Oh shiiiiit….**

**This is where the cast of thousands is about to arrive. So hang onto the edge of your seats, we're in for a bumpy ride over the next few chapters…**

**Oh. And you are all shameless enablers and it is entirely your fault that the Skye/Rumlow fic I am writing, and will start posting when I have finished this one, features were-Brock…**


	15. Get A Grip

**Chapter Fifteen – Get A Grip**

_Metallica – Nothing Else Matters_

"DC!" Skye came clattering up the stairs to Coulson's office and he sighed and looked up.

"Yes, Skye, what it it?"

"Well," she leaned against the doorframe, "do you want the okay news, the bad news or the really bad news first?"

Coulson barely resisted the urge to put his head down on his desk and cry. They were operating out of the Bus again, parked in a quiet corner of an Air Force field in South Carolina after Coulson had called in a favour from General Talbot.

"Let's start with the okay news and you can make me feel worse from there," he said eventually.

"The Playground is still secure." Skye had never believed that Jemma would give that up willingly. HYDRA being what they were, though, who knew what they would do to her. She, Fitz and Mack had thoroughly booby-trapped the Playground before they evacuated and left monitoring cameras all over. "No signs of any approach, nothing on any HYDRA channels about it."

"That's actually reasonably good news," Phil murmured. He couldn't quite figure out what game Rumlow and HYDRA were playing with this fake-soulmates thing, though. It didn't make any sense. "All right, what's the bad news?"

"Picked up a coded message from Sharon Carter on that fake Twitter account she's got. Sunil Bakshi escaped custody. Two weeks ago."

"_WHAT!_" Phil shot to his feet. "_How?_ And why the hell are we only just hearing about it now?"

"As to how, Sharon didn't know. The CIA don't exactly like to admit that they're still chucking people into Gitmo, let alone that somehow someone managed to escape from the place! Which is also why _she_ didn't know about it until yesterday. She's flown down there to try and find out what the fuck happened."

"Christ almighty." Phil sank back down into his chair and massaged his temples with his forefingers. "Bakshi, on the loose again. I _knew_ we shouldn't have handed him over, but really I thought the _CIA_ could hold him!" He realised something then and looked up. "You said that was the bad news. What the hell is the _really_ bad news?"

Phil realised, then, just how pale Skye looked. She held out her phone towards him. "Sir. I – well, Fitz and I – have been working on cracking encrypted communications from the HYDRA quinjets. Because they don't believe anyone could be listening, they're not talking in code." She tapped an icon on her phone screen.

"Inform Bakshi that I have Simmons in custody. ETA forty-three minutes. Rollins out." The harsh voice crackled from the tiny speaker.

"When did you get this?" Phil could barely get a whisper out.

"We intercepted it about an hour ago. I just cracked it now. Sir – wherever they were taking Jemma? They're already there."

Jemma couldn't stop shivering. She'd got wet in the snow when Rollins flung her down, and the icy water had melted into her clothes. Strapped into her seat, hands behind her back, her nose was streaming too and she was coughing incessantly.

"Christ, what's wrong with her?" the commando who'd secured her hands asked with disgust.

"She's sick," Rollins said with a shrug.

"No shit, Sherlock, can't see Bakshi being happy about her being in this condition!"

Rollins laughed sadistically. "She can talk, can't she? Bakshi doesn't give a shit about her condition beyond that, soldier." He got up and went forward to speak to the pilot.

The three commandos in the back with Jemma looked at each other. And then, to her enormous surprise, one of them put a survival blanket around her and another wiped her face with a rag.

"Th-thank you," she coughed out.

"Yeah, well, don't think it's for your benefit," the man next to her muttered. "Rollins is making assumptions. Bakshi would be pissed if you don't arrive in decent condition – and if you're right about Rumlow coming for you, I'm not giving him a fuckin' reason to tear me apart with his bare hands."

There was silence for a moment, broken only by Jemma's sniffles and coughs. And then one of the other men said;

"Is the Commander really your soulmate?" His tone was respectful, a little awed. And it was like a lightbulb going on in Jemma's fevered, tired brain.

_They don't know he's not really HYDRA. They think he flipped out because he found me… I need to play along, buy time…_

"I'm as surprised as you are," she sniffed. "Never imagined for one moment that my soulmate would turn out to be HYDRA."

There were several low chuckles. "Guess he's been teaching you the error of your ways, huh?" They were looking at the bruises on her face and neck, Jemma realised. She deliberately turned her head, moving to try and hide the bruise on her cheek, and said nothing.

"The Commander's good at that. Order through pain and all that."

"Looks like he already broke this SHIELD bitch to his hand, huh?"

Their laughter was loud and coarse, but they kept a very careful distance from her. Jemma kept her mouth shut and let the tears flow from her eyes.

_Please come for me quickly, Brock. Sunil Bakshi isn't going to be this easily fooled…_

_Get a grip. Get a hold of yourself._

Brock had to get out of the cabin. He staggered out into the snow, leaned on the hood of the truck, breathed deeply. _Jemma needs you. Think. Focus. Control_.

His every instinct was shrieking at him to go into a berserk rage, but that wouldn't help anything. _I'm not an animal. Not a beast. Think, dammit!_

Rollins had her. Jack Rollins was _alive_, and he had _Jemma_. A red mist rose in front of Brock's eyes at the thought, along with a terror that threatened to choke him. He knew what Rollins was capable of. Only too well. And there were worse monsters in HYDRA than Jack, too.

_Breathe. Think._

"Help," he said aloud. "I need help."

There was no way he could do this alone. He didn't even know where they'd taken her. So the first step was to get out of here. Get back to town, give this truck back – he grinned mirthlessly at the thought – find some allies. Brock scowled as he climbed back into the cab. Fury hadn't yet responded to his messages. He'd called Sharon Carter's desk as well and got a message that she was 'out on assignment' which he knew very well was CIA-code for 'out of the country'.

He didn't even know _how_ to contact Coulson. Not quickly and covertly. He scowled to himself for not asking Jemma for that number she'd used to ring him on the first night. He did have a path for getting a message through, the one he'd planned to use on time-delay in case things went wrong, but it would take time. Time he didn't have.

Only one option left, then. Not a great option – but beggars couldn't be choosers. Not with Jemma's life at stake.

Rumlow dropped the car back at the drugstore, handed the keys over to the kindly cashier with a strained smile and left. He walked until he was on the outskirts of town – didn't want anyone seeing what might happen next – before taking out his phone and dialling. He took a deep breath when the phone was answered before he spoke.

"Maria? It's Bones. I've been compromised, and I've got a serious problem."

**Next chapter: the Avengers join the party…**


	16. How Long?

**Chapter Sixteen – How Long?**

_Alien Ant Farm – Smooth Criminal_

"Sir," JARVIS interrupted Tony.

"What, now, JARV, really?" Tony grumped. He was just putting the final touches on his newest suit. The one with the arc reactor built into _it_, rather than him.

"It seems to me that this is rather a fortuitous time, actually, Sir. I have a voice trace on one of our primary targets – one on Captain Rogers' list. Brock Rumlow, formerly Commander of STRIKE."

"Rumlow, shit!" Tony jerked upright. "Tell Cap to suit up! Where, JARVIS?"

"West Virginia, Sir – and the Captain is already on his way…"

Steve burst into the lab at that moment, slinging his shield onto his back harness. "Let's go, Tony!"

"On it!" the suit was already closing around Tony's body. "Ready to test out the new handholds, Cap?"

Steve grinned. He was the only one who had the strength to 'ride along' with Tony at full speed, but he'd thoroughly enjoyed the adrenaline rush the couple of times they'd tried it out. It was like flying in a jet plane – without a canopy. He stepped up behind Tony, put his feet on the panels which flipped down from the calf plates of the armour, slipped his hands through the moulded handgrips which protruded from Tony's shoulders. "Ready when you are, Iron Man. Let's go get that bastard."

They streaked out of the Tower and off across the city. They were halfway to the location JARVIS had pinpointed when Tony said;

"So how'd you pick him up, JARVIS?"

"Mr Rumlow called Ms Hill, Sir."

"_What?_" Steve almost let go with shock. He had an earpiece in too and could hear the whole conversation. "Maria's talking to _Rumlow_?"

"Shit, I knew that bitch would sell us out!" Tony said.

"Certainly not, Sir!" JARVIS sounded affronted. He and Maria got on extremely well. "It does appear, though, that previous assumptions about Mr Rumlow may not have been entirely correct…" he replayed the call. It was cryptic, but it was also quite clear that Rumlow – calling himself Bones – and Maria were on reasonably good terms. He told her he'd been compromised and an asset had been taken, that he would come in but he'd need resources. Maria just told him she'd call him back from a secure line.

"Get her on the phone, JARVIS," Tony ordered, seething. Maria was _still_ keeping fucking secrets. "Now."

"She's left the Tower, Sir, and not taken her phone with her…"

"Then fucking send Barton and Romanoff after her but I want her on the phone _now_!"

They were getting close to the phone trace which was still pinging as active on Tony's heads-up display. Rumlow was waiting for Maria to call him back.

"We'd better ask questions first and shoot later, Tony," Steve said.

"You kidding me? You know how many people died after that bastard launched the Helicarriers? My Tower was on that target list – _PEPPER_ was on that list…"

"Stark!"

"Fine!" Tony shouted back angrily. "But once you've talked to him I'm gonna fucking blow his head off!"

Steve only shook his head. He wanted to pull Rumlow's head off his shoulders himself – but he _did_ trust Maria. If she was talking to the man, there was a good reason for it.

They came in low, to avoid Rumlow hearing them come. He did, though, spinning to face them the second they were in sight. Standing with his arms spread out to his sides, showing that there were no weapons in his hands. Steve wasn't fooled for a second. He sprang from Tony's back, intending to hit Rumlow in the chest with his feet, send him sprawling in the snow…

Rumlow wasn't there. He'd moved fast, dodging the strike, sliding to one side with the grace of a dancer, though he kept his hands spread wide. Steve was the one who hit the ground, though he rolled and was on his feet in an instant, charging in again.

"Honestly, Captain," Rumlow slid to one side again, evading the charge. "Did you not listen to a thing I told you? Never let your anger rule your attacks. It makes you clumsy." He shook his head, disgusted. Rogers might hold the courtesy title, but Rumlow had the true military training, and the years of bitter experience to back it up. "_Think_ about this. Why would I have let you find me, and be standing here unarmed?"

Tony had landed a few paces away and was watching with interest, faceplate flipped up for a better view. "He's got a point, Steve," he called, lifting something. Steve glanced over to see Rumlow's weapons harness, guns and stun batons dangling from it.

"I know you well enough to know that you're _never_ unarmed," he growled, flicking his eyes back to Rumlow. Who could have attacked him when he looked away, he realised.

"Quite correct. There's another gun at the small of my back and a knife in each boot," Rumlow said with a nod. Arms still spread wide. "Take them, if it makes you more comfortable." He turned his back on Steve, placed his hands on the back of his head.

Tony folded his arms with a clank of armour. "I am totally losing the urge to shoot him. He just got interesting."

A phone started ringing. "That'll be Maria Hill, calling me back. Phone's in my hip pocket."

Steve just shook his head in disbelief. Took the gun at Rumlow's back, but left him the knives. Pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered it.

"What the fuck, Brock, how did you get compromised, that's supposed to be impossible!" Maria rapped out.

"Maria, it's Steve. I think you've got some explaining to do."

There was a long silence. And then she sighed. "He's ours, Steve. He's always been ours. Our deepest-cover agent, he's been with HYDRA since before I even joined SHIELD."

"Think you were still in junior high when I got recruited, actually, Maria," Rumlow said dryly.

"But," Steve said incredulously, "the helicarriers – you forced the launch…"

"Sharon Carter and I forced the launch and we found out who in the control room was on which fucking side while we were at it. She, Maria and Fury were the only three people in the entire agency who knew what I was. And the launch took place on Fury's orders. He believed that if the Insight helicarriers weren't destroyed, they'd be _used_, sooner rather than later. You yourself told him that it all had to come down, Captain. Nick agreed with you, but the lives lost that day will be a stain on my soul for the rest of my life." Rumlow turned to face Steve, hands still laced behind his head, eyes calm.

"That's all true," Maria confirmed quietly at the other end of the phone line. "What's changed, Brock? You were so close to getting to their high command. What's happened?"

"I found my soulmate. She's one of Coulson's people, Agent Jemma Simmons."

"What do you mean, Coulson's people?" Tony said, bemused. He'd approached closer to get in on the conversation. "Coulson's dead."

"Do you want to tell them or shall I, Maria?" Rumlow asked wearily. "Because I have really got more important things to be doing than babysitting the Avengers' fragile psyches when they all break down on learning their pet Agent isn't actually dead."

Steve's jaw dropped. So did Tony's.

"I've dispatched Barton with the quinjet to bring you in," Maria said after a moment.

"Good. Because I need your help. Jemma's been taken by HYDRA, and I need to get her back."

When he spoke the woman's name was the only time he showed emotion, Steve realised, something flashing in his dark eyes.

"I guess we don't have time for the rest right now, then," Steve said slowly.

"Not right now, no." Seeing that Steve no longer wanted to kill him, Rumlow lowered his hands – slowly. Taking the phone from Steve's hand, he grinned to see that Maria had already cut the connection. She was going to have some serious explaining to do to Stark, he thought. And Rogers, from the look on his face. "Jemma's my soulmate. I only found her the day before yesterday, when she was kidnapped in a case of mistaken identity and I blew up a HYDRA base to get her out…"

Jemma was barely conscious by the time the quinjet landed. One of the commandos hefted her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and she blacked out almost instantly as the blood rushed to her head.

She woke restrained to a hospital bed, in what was quite clearly a cell. An IV was flowing into her arm, and she craned her neck frantically trying to see what was in it. Saline. _Well – that could be a lot worse._ Her throat was no longer sore, though, which was worrying. _How long have I been here?_ She twisted her head to look around. Three blank white walls and one made up entirely of thick steel bars.

"Ah, Dr Simmons!" a smooth, cultured British voice said, and Jemma froze.

_Oh God, Brock was right. Prison couldn't hold him_… because Sunil Bakshi was quite clearly not a prisoner here, as he unlocked the cell and came in, smiling down at Jemma with that nasty twisted smirk. She cringed away, or would have if she could, as he bent right down close and _sniffed_ at her neck.

"Interesting, Rollins was right. You do smell of _him_, even now you've been washed."

Bakshi busied himself removing Jemma's IV, taking the entire apparatus out of the cell and returning a few moments later.

"How long have I been here?" Jemma finally found her voice, despite her terror. "What are you going to do with me?" She almost choked on the question, but she had to know. Bad guys never could resist gloating, and Bakshi was no exception.

"A few days. You were quite unwell when you were brought in." Bakshi clicked his tongue. "You're in our medical facility."

Jemma looked around the cell with an eloquent expression. "The complete lack of medical equipment would seem to indicate otherwise," she said sarcastically.

Bakshi smirked again. "Well, Jemma – you don't mind if I call you Jemma, do you? We've spent enough time together now, I feel – this isn't exactly your _average_ medical facility. Some of our patients are more _dangerous_ than others. Medical equipment is so well suited to being turned into weaponry, hmm?"

She flinched as he grasped her wrist, but he only unfastened one of the restraints and stepped back out of the cell, closing the door behind him.

"Wait," she struggled to sit up, pulling her wrist free and grabbing at the other restraint. "Wait, what are you going to do with me?"

The lock clicked and Bakshi smiled. "We're waiting for Rumlow to decide your fate," he said, and walked away.

_What?_

Jemma froze. _He couldn't mean it like that, Jemma_, she scolded herself. _Not that Brock just hasn't decided what to let HYDRA do with you yet. He probably means that they're trying to force Brock to give himself up in exchange for me – they won't hurt me, they need me in good condition or Brock will go all Hulk Smash on them…_

The thought of Rumlow smashing in Bakshi's smug face was an extremely comforting one. Jemma hugged the image to herself as she finished letting herself out of the restraints and immediately climbed out of bed. Time to check around – well, at least she wasn't wearing one of those backless hospital gowns, had on instead a set of light blue scrubs. _Could be worse_, she thought again.

Unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing in the cell she could use. The bed wasn't a proper hospital one, more just a mattress on a raised iron frame, and the restraints were simple plastic clips on webbing. May or Rumlow would probably know how to turn them into lethal weapons, but Jemma just sighed dismally.

There was a chemical toilet in one corner – _could be worse, could be a bucket_ – she told herself firmly, and a tiny steel sink.

And that was it.

Jemma sighed and headed to the barred front of the cell, tried to peer out. The opposite wall was blank, and she could see she was in quite a longish corridor, but that was it. Bakshi was nowhere in sight, but there was a desk against the opposite wall where she guessed he'd been sitting, her IV equipment on it. She couldn't even get her face far enough between the bars to see if there were other cells neighbouring hers.

"Hello?" she said a bit tremulously. "Is anyone else there?" _It would be really nice not to be alone_…

There was silence for several minutes. Long enough for her shoulders to slump, certain she was indeed all alone in this place, wherever it was. And then a low voice about four feet to her right said;

"I'm here."

Jemma scrambled to that side of the cell, slipped her hand between the bars and reached blindly around. More bars. Another cell. "You're a prisoner too?"

"…Yes."

"I'm scared." She said it honestly. "I'm glad to know I'm not alone, though. My name's Jemma. Who are you?" She left her hand there, hoping he'd touch it, whoever he was. Right now she very desperately wanted some friendly human contact.

She almost screamed when cold metal brushed her fingers, snatched her hand back. Stared in awe at the metal fingers reaching after hers.

"I don't know." It was a soft whisper.

"_Barnes?_"

**O_O.**

_**Now**_** what?**


	17. Old Enemies, New Allies

**Chapter Seventeen – Old Enemies, New Allies**

_The Levellers – 100 Years Of Solitude_

The first thing Barton did on landing the quinjet was come striding out with his bow in hand and an arrow aimed straight for Rumlow's head.

Brock sighed and rolled his eyes. "If you're gonna shoot me, do it. But you guys had better fucking go and rescue Jemma or I swear my vengeful ghost will haunt you for the rest of your days."

Clint lowered the bow, astonishment coming to his features. "What the fuck?"

"I do not have _time_ for this shit, Barton, my _soulmate's_ been taken!" Brock glared into the other man's eyes. Barton and Romanoff were the only other pair of soulmates he knew, apart from the two awful examples he'd given Jemma. They were uncanny, the way they seemed to think in parallel. He'd seen Romanoff's face on the helicarrier when they were hunting for Barton. She'd been shattered behind that calm mask she always wore. So he knew that Barton was the one person who might possibly understand.

Clint stared for a moment into Rumlow's dark eyes. And then he flipped the arrow back into his quiver. "Let's go. Sounds like we've work to do."

"What, that's it?" Steve dropped into the co-pilot's seat beside Clint, speaking quietly, glancing over his shoulder at Rumlow, who was standing in the back. He didn't bother to strap in, just swayed gracefully as the quinjet lifted off. "You're just gonna take his word for it?"

"His soulmate's been taken, Steve." Clint spared one glance at the Captain. "He was telling the truth about that. And no matter what side he's on, I'd not leave anyone to face that reality without help. I've been there. It's a very lonely, horrible place to be." He concentrated on pushing the jet to its best speed as they headed back to New York and the Tower's resources.

"You believed him? About his soulmate?" Steve did trust Clint. Hawkeye had an almost uncanny ability to read lies.

"There was desperation in his eyes, Cap," Clint glanced across at Steve again. "I saw that look in the mirror once."

Steve said no more. Just looked back at Rumlow and wondered.

Tony had already headed back to the Tower ahead of them, and they arrived to find him interrogating a harassed-looking Maria in the Avengers' briefing room. Natasha was already there, looking annoyed, and with Bruce away in India at a spiritual retreat and Thor on Asgard that meant the roster was complete, since Sam still wasn't on board full-time. He was on his way up from Washington and would join them soon.

They were all a bit surprised when Maria got up, ignoring Tony who was in mid-rant, crossed the room to Rumlow as he followed Clint in, Steve at his back, and gave him a tight hug. He hugged her back with a half-smile.

"He really _is_ one of yours," Natasha said, amazed. "Fuck me, you're a good actor, Rumlow."

"I know undercover's been your specialty, Romanoff," Brock said, dropping into a chair with a sigh, "but I've lived and breathed HYDRA for nineteen years. If I could fool their leaders into believing – I could fool even you."

"You did." She didn't look angry about it, though, just admiring of his acting skills. "Now what's all this about your soulmate going missing?"

"Wait, wait," Tony interrupted, "I think we should talk first about why Maria hasn't mentioned this before – and what the hell about Coulson, by the way, you seriously didn't share…"

Brock was out of his chair in an instant, faster than even Steve could follow, to his surprise. He had hold of the front of Tony's shirt, looming over him, glaring into his eyes. "We can pander to your hurt feelings later, Stark. Right now _I want my soulmate back_."

Tony froze. Steve and Clint both winced, waiting for Tony to make some smartarse remark – Stark never did well in this sort of confrontation – but to everyone's amazement, Tony actually backed down.

"Okay. I can see that's your first priority right now."

"She'll be my first priority always," Brock let go, turned away and sat back down. "Rollins is alive, Maria." He threw a crumpled piece of paper on the table. "I'm dead-set certain that's his handwriting, and he's the only person who'd have had a clue how to find the hideout I used. He's got Jemma. And I need you to check up on Sunil Bakshi's location as well."

"Coulson had Bakshi, last I heard."

"Jemma said they handed him over to CIA, and I can't get hold of Sharon, which means she's out of the country. My guess is they took Bakshi to Gitmo or one of the other rendition prisons, and if they didn't know he was enhanced – and I'm not sure Sharon knew that he was – they wouldn't have been able to hold him."

"Shit," Maria muttered. "Stark – are you feeling in the mood to hack the CIA?"

"Why not?" Tony shrugged, and settled at a bank of computers, fingers flying.

Steve was watching Rumlow. He'd thought he knew the man, but there was something very different about this Brock Rumlow to the contained, steady leader of the STRIKE team he'd worked with for months, even to the HYDRA commander he'd shown himself to be. An edge of – _despair_? But something else too, an _aura_ he carried with him, something Steve had the feeling had been there all along but had been hidden until now.

"You're enhanced too, aren't you?" Steve said quietly as Rumlow stilled, staring off into space for a moment.

"Yeah," the word was quiet, but it electrified the room. Everyone stared at the dark-haired, broad-shouldered man sitting absolutely motionless.

"How?" Blue eyes met black across the conference table. "It's not exactly like mine. Is it?"

"No," Rumlow's mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "Erskine's formula made you more than human, Rogers. HYDRA made us – less." He could almost hear Jemma's voice in his mind. _Don't you ever say that again!_ He swallowed bile, tried not to think about what might even now be happening to her. "There were six of us who survived the process. Me, Rollins, Bakshi, Evans, and the Borden brothers. The Bordens are definitely both dead. I thought Evans and Rollins both died in the Triskelion, but Rollins at least is alive."

"Aaaand Bakshi escaped Gitmo a fortnight ago by means unknown," Maria said bleakly, looking up from the computer she and Stark were leaning over. "Sharon's down there now investigating."

"_Fuck_. He's got it in for Jemma, too."

Rumlow resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. Instead he briefed the Avengers on everything that had happened over the last few days. Gave them the basics on his enhancement.

Maria sighed. "I'll have to call Coulson."

"Yes, and while you're at it tell him what the fuck!" Tony fired up again. He frowned as he saw that of the other occupants in the room, only Steve also looked indignant. He pointed at Clint and Natasha. "Wait a minute. You two _knew_?"

"Spy," Natasha pointed at herself. "Coulson was running around with a new team well before SHIELD fell. I couldn't get all the details on how exactly he survived Loki, but Clint and I surmised that Fury and Coulson wanted to keep it secret for a reason. We respected that."

"Damn secrets," Steve muttered, glared at Natasha. She only arched a red eyebrow at him.

"Let's not go down the hurt feelings bullshit route again," Rumlow interrupted the glaring. "Coulson's alive, running a new version of SHIELD from the shadows. And we're going to need them, so pick up the phone and make the call, Maria."

"Sir!" this time Skye was actually out of breath as she raced up the stairs to Coulson's office. "Sir – you need to come to the command centre _now_. Maria Hill's on the video call line. And – she's got Iron Man, Captain America, Hawkeye, the Black Widow and Brock Rumlow with her."

For a long moment Coulson just stared at her. And then he stood up from his desk and straightened his tie. "I suppose it had to come eventually," he murmured. And then froze. "Wait. _Brock Rumlow_?"

"Barnes?" Jemma gasped, staring at that metal hand. It withdrew suddenly, replaced by a flesh-and-blood one, with long, pale fingers.

"Sorry, you don't want to look at that. Who's Barnes?"

Hesitantly, Jemma touched those long fingers. They wrapped warmly around hers for a moment.

"I think _you_ might be Barnes," she blurted, having to lean against the wall with shock. "Are you the Winter Soldier? The one HYDRA call the Asset?"

"Yes," that low voice was soft.

"Then you're Barnes. James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes. You used to be a Howling Commando, back in World War Two. You were Steve Rogers' – _Captain America's_ – best friend."

"Bucky," he said quietly. "That's what the man on the bridge called me."

"That's your name." _An ally_, Jemma thought frantically. _He can't want to be here any more than I do_. "What are you doing here? I thought you were put in cryogenic storage between missions."

"The storage unit was destroyed. They are awaiting shipment of another. I was – lost, for a while."

"How long have you been here?" Something else occurred to Jemma. "How long have _I_ been here, do you know?"

"Ten meals."

"Ten meals – three meals a day?"

"Yes. I presume so. The foods are arranged as breakfast, lunch and dinner. The last meal was a dinner, a few hours ago."

"So I was brought here sometime after lunch, three days ago – that makes sense," Jemma mused to herself. "What about you, Bucky, how long have you been here?" She tugged lightly at his fingers. "Let's sit down and talk." She slid to the floor, her back against the wall, and put her hand out again. After a moment she heard a rustle as he obviously did the same, but it was the metal hand that covered hers on the cold concrete floor. She didn't flinch.

"One hundred and forty-seven meals." There was an odd hesitation in his voice, and then he said softly "You smell like the Commander."

Jemma froze, remembering everything Rumlow had said to her about Barnes_. I like to think that he listened to me because I treated him with respect. Some of them treated him like a rabid dog_. "He's my soulmate," she said quietly after a moment. "I've been put here because they want to use me to control him."

There was a low rumbling sound which it took Jemma a moment to recognise as Barnes _growling_. His metal fingers didn't clench on hers, though.

"I'm all right," she said hurriedly. "They didn't hurt me." _It's my guess that Bakshi has kept Rollins off me_… though she had no idea what had been done to her while she was unconscious. She shied away from the thought. There was no pain anywhere on her body, and somehow she thought that if Rollins had got to her she'd have broken bones at the least.

"Still wrong," there was the hint of a growl in his voice still. "Wrong to keep soulmates apart. _Wrong_."

"Yes, it is. He'll come for me, though." Jemma was still utterly confident in that fact. "And when he does, he'll destroy everyone who's in his way to get to me."

"The Commander's good at that," she was surprised to hear something like a thread of laughter in Barnes' low voice.

"Do you _remember_ that?" Jemma asked hesitantly.

There was a long moment of silence. "Yes," came the answer finally. "I remember – some things. Is my name really Barnes? Bucky Barnes? The man on the bridge – _Steve_ – he called me that, and I saw pictures when I went to the museum that looked like me."

Jemma smiled, turned her fingers up and laced them with his metal ones. "Let me tell you what I know about James Buchanan Barnes."

**Awwww, BUCKY.**

**Well, as Jemma keeps saying to herself – could be worse. She's in a bad situation, but now she has a friend to keep her company, at least.**

**A little bit more on the 'enhanced' HYDRA soldiers, as per my headcanon for this story. Bucky was the first of them. Whitehall 'rediscovered' the process when testing some of Bucky's blood after bringing him out of cryo one time. Six others were created – a lot died, the six who survived were tough as hell, but there are only three left now, Rollins, Bakshi and Rumlow, plus Bucky of course.**

**While they don't vocalise it – and Rumlow doesn't even **_**realise**_** it – they think of themselves as a pack. Rumlow is definitely the alpha wolf, which is why Rollins freaked when he caught Rumlow's scent in the cabin, and couldn't make himself force Jemma into the bedroom. While Bucky could be an alpha, he never had a pack before and wouldn't be able to lead one anyway; his subjugation and brainwashing mean he's effectively forced into the omega wolf position, but Rumlow wouldn't permit him to be treated too badly because he subconsciously recognised that Bucky was actually his equal.**

**Bakshi and Rollins are beta wolves in an awkward position relative to each other. While Rollins ranks higher in 'pack' hierarchy, Bakshi is higher ranked within HYDRA. There's a constant silent struggle for dominance between them, which is causing a certain amount of confusion and rebellion in the 'regular' soldiers. And it's why the commandos with Rollins were willing to defy him to make sure Jemma got to Bakshi in reasonable condition.**

**That and the fact that they are pants-wettingly terrified of Rumlow, of course ;)**

**This is my explanation for why Rollins and Bakshi don't want to believe Rumlow isn't HYDRA. To them, it just doesn't compute that their pack-leader could be a traitor to**_** his own pack**_**. And it also makes sense to their instincts that Rumlow would do absolutely anything to protect his soulmate. Killing eighty people is a perfectly normal thing for him to do, in their slightly wolfy heads, if his mate was in any way threatened. **

**Rollins doesn't much care, though. To him, if he can claim the pack-leader's mate – he gets to be pack leader.**

**This is obviously not a good thing from Jemma's point of view…**


	18. Neutral Ground

**Chapter Eighteen – Neutral Ground**

_Bon Jovi – In These Arms_

"I really didn't think these were the circumstances under which I was going to get to meet Captain America, if I ever did," Skye grumbled under her breath to Hunter, who shushed her. "Dragged before the Avengers like a bunch of errant schoolkids…"

In front of her, Coulson's back got even straighter and May went even stiffer.

"We are meeting on neutral ground," May hissed over her shoulder.

"Yeah. _Real_ neutral," Skye muttered.

They were meeting at the Hub. Tony Stark had _bought_ it off the government and promptly handed it over to Maria Hill, who was using it as a base for the new 'privatised global security' firm she was setting up under the Stark Industries banner.

It was, however, one of the safest places they could possibly come up with to park the Bus, in the hangar purpose-built for the big Globemaster. And all of the SHIELD agents were very familiar with the place, feeling quite at ease. Hunter, walking alongside Skye with his hand twitching over his gun, was the only one who didn't seem relaxed. He got even less so when they walked into a large conference room and saw four Avengers – five if you counted the Falcon – Maria Hill and Brock Rumlow standing there, apparently all quite comfortable together.

May, Hunter and Bobbi completely failed to restrain themselves from drawing their guns and pointing them at Rumlow. Who folded thickly muscled arms over his broad chest and smiled at them sardonically.

"Holy shit," Skye whispered to Fitz, "that's _him_?"

"Uh-huh," Fitz was wide-eyed with panic, though Skye wasn't quite sure if it was being in the presence of Tony Stark or Natasha Romanoff that had him so freaked out.

"_That_ is Jemma's soulmate?"

Rumlow's black eyes flickered over to Skye, and she realised he could hear her. He shouldn't be able to. She reassessed him again. Super-hearing, at least.

"Damn, he looks like one scary badass," she said out loud, and his lips twitched. "On the other hand, I gotta say, lucky Jemma."

That broke the ice in the room. Romanoff started snickering, and a moment later _May_, of all people, joined in, holstering her gun and gesturing for Hunter and Bobbi to stand down too. Rumlow was the only one who looked serious. He unfolded his arms and came across to Skye, holding out his hand.

"You must be Skye."

"Aaaand I can't believe I threatened you over the phone. Clearly I have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever."

"Perhaps not, but I can see why Jemma said you are her best friend."

Coulson appeared to be about to have a seizure. "You're _really_ Jemma's soulmate?" he gaped at Rumlow, about as stunned as Skye had ever seen him.

"Yes," Brock blinked a couple of times. "You thought HYDRA faked it," he said in tones of sudden enlightenment. "Ah, shit. No, Coulson, that's not how it went down."

And then he had to go through, yet again, how he'd met Jemma and taken her from the research facility, leaving death and destruction in his wake. He glossed over the hour they'd spent in his quarters, just implying that he'd basically been given permission to rape Jemma before he killed her but of course he didn't do any such thing. He could almost feel Clint's sharp eyes on his back, but he gritted his teeth. Jemma's team didn't need to know about the ugliness he'd had to put her through.

"And now," he finished, "Rollins has taken her, and I don't know where to start looking. Which is why I called Maria. I need your help. All of you. I need – I need Jemma back." His hands were clenching convulsively into fists, where he'd hidden them under the edge of the conference table.

They were all staring at him with various degrees of shock. Brock realised that his emotions were probably written all over his face – but right then he didn't care.

"I _need_ her back," he said again. "Please. Please help me." It nearly destroyed him to beg, but for Jemma's sake he'd crawl and lick clean the boots of everyone in this damned room if that's what he had to do.

"I might have a start point." It was Skye who spoke first. She slipped her phone out of her pocket and held it up. "We intercepted a transmission from a HYDRA quinjet and cracked the encryption – approximately eighteen hours ago now."

The edge of the conference table creaked under Rumlow's grip as Rollins' voice played through the quiet room.

"Okay," typically Tony was the first to leap into action. "So they were ninety-three minutes out from wherever they were going when that transmission was made. You got a location, girlie?"

Skye gave him narrowed eyes for the girlie, but nodded. "I pinned it down pretty well." She stood and went over to the computers.

"Brock, are you all right?" It was Maria who asked, when he only sat stone still, unable to let go of the edge of the conference table.

"Rollins _and_ Bakshi," he turned agonised black eyes up to her. "Nearly a whole _day_ they've had her. What are they doing to her, Maria? I – I can't…"

Fitz, across the table, let out a strangled sound. Hunter put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"You!" Fitz cried, taking a deep breath. "They took her because of _you_!"

"If not for me she'd be rotting in a shallow grave right now and Dr Gunther would be preparing another attempt to take Skye," Rumlow's anger found a target. "So don't start with me, son!" he stood, looming dark and angry over the table. "If Jemma was so damned important to you, why was she out shopping on her own, not a single bodyguard?" He cast an angry glance at Coulson. "My Jemma, alone and defenceless…" it hit him then, and he had to turn away, plant his hands on the wall, try to control his shaking.

He could hear muttered words behind him, people leaving the room, though right then he couldn't focus on anything but controlling his rage. And then a low voice spoke in his ear.

"We'll find her. We'll get her back for you."

_Captain America_. Rumlow turned his head, met Steve's blue eyes. "Promise me, Cap? Even if I don't make it, you'll see her safe?"

"No matter what," Steve put a gentle hand on the other man's shoulder. "I promise I'll make sure she's safe."

"Okay." He sucked in a breath, pushed himself off the wall. Scrubbed his hand over his face. "So where are we, Stark?"

Stark, Skye and Natasha were the only ones still in the room besides Brock and Steve, all three of them working at the bank of computers.

"Getting somewhere," Stark didn't look up. "Girlie here…"

"It's _Skye_, Stark, don't be a condescending asshole!" that was Natasha, who grinned at Skye. She smiled back gratefully, having been just slightly too intimidated to say that herself.

"Skye, then, has been doing rather a good job with limited resources, actually."

"Still condescending!"

"I'm condescending to everyone, Nat, don't you know that by now? Still, Skye pinned down that transmission location pretty well. Now without a direction it would leave a pretty big circle to search, but if we assume the cabin as the start point," Tony tapped a few more keys, "and put in the standard quinjet cruising speed, and then start cross-correlating with known HYDRA and former SHIELD locations…"

"We come up with three," Natasha cut off Tony as he started mumbling again. "One in Texas, one in Florida – and one in the Bahamas."

"Bags I that one!" Tony said instantly.

Natasha ignored him. "Can you refine the direction at this range, Rumlow, or will we need to get closer?"

He stared at her silently.

She stared back at him, and then her green eyes slowly widened. "You didn't complete the bond, did you?"

Skye couldn't keep her mouth shut. "How the hell did Jemma resist _that_ for two days?"

Rumlow realised there was a dull flush burning its way across his cheekbones. "I wanted to give her the time to choose," he chose to focus only on Natasha, not on the staring Skye, the sniggering Tony Stark or a red-cheeked Rogers. "I'm – I've got a lot of baggage. Jemma's… I probably don't deserve her. I _definitely_ don't deserve her," he amended.

"Well that's all very well and noble," Natasha said dryly, "fantastically chivalrous job there, Rumlow, but unfortunately what it means now is we've no way to determine which of these three sites Jemma might be at! Or even _if_ she is, before we have to go in!" Her voice softened. "That's why you're so worried, isn't it? You don't _know_ what they're doing to her."

His breathing was coming fast. "I need her." His voice cracked. "I need her _back_." And the fucking _second_ he got her back, he was completing that bond. Not _knowing_ was the worst part. Having to depend on others for their help. If he'd been able to _tell_ where Jemma had been taken, he'd have been after Rollins himself like the wrath of God.

"This is interesting," Skye's voice broke him out of his mental fugue. "Look. There was a kill order put out on Rumlow after the Charlotte bombing, but now – look. It's been rescinded, and there's an Approach With Caution note, and a direction to tell him to contact this number. Can we track that?"

Tony's fingers danced over the keys, but after a moment he sat back with a grimace. "No. Dammit. It's their brand-new, latest-gen encryption. Give me a week and JARVIS and I will have it, but not yet."

Skye sat back with a pout. "Well, what do we do, then? We can't refine the location down from those three – or even more we might not know about. The one in Florida, at least, is a bloody big place, a former SHIELD training facility. The one in Texas is a Cybertek plant which could be a very ugly assault, if they have Centipede soldiers or some other nasty-ass tech there. And the Bahamas looks simple on the surface, just a fancy holiday house owned by a shell corporation, but if it's anything like Ian Quinn's place on Malta was there'll be nothing simple about that either."

"We don't have enough manpower for simultaneous assaults on all three, is what you're saying," Steve said, appraising Skye thoughtfully. _That's a smart young woman._

"Not considering the size of two of the targets, no. And if we go for one and it's the wrong one, well they might guess we're looking for Jemma and move her somewhere that we can't find her."

They were all silent for a moment, considering the problem. And then Brock sighed.

"You'd better give me the phone, then."

"Huh?" Steve blinked at him.

"If the order has changed from kill on sight, they want me alive. And they probably want me alive because they think I'm really HYDRA but I flipped out on being ordered to kill my soulmate. If Bakshi's the man running the op, I know how he thinks. He won't want to believe I'm not really HYDRA. I can talk my way in. Maybe agree to an exchange, Jemma for me. Or convince them that I'm still HYDRA to the core and I'll continue to serve – as long as I get to keep Jemma. Either way I can get to her and protect her, and once I've pinpointed her location the rest of you come on in."

"And if they're just using Jemma to get you out in the open so they can kill you?" Steve said practically.

"I'm not revealing myself until I get proof of life and an agreement on how to proceed. If they double-cross and kill me anyway – well then, you get to fulfil your promise, Cap."

Rumlow's dark eyes met Steve's, completely unafraid, and Steve felt an upsurge of respect for the former STRIKE leader. He'd always respected the man, indeed relied on his tactical knowledge and battlefield skills, far superior to Steve's in the modern day. But this personal courage was something else, something Steve had seen in very, very few men, alive or dead.

"Give the man a phone, Stark," Steve said quietly after that one long look into Rumlow's eyes.

**Note: in this soulmarks AU, a pair who've completed their bond can **_**feel**_** the other one, know if they're hurt or in distress, and pinpoint their general direction. It's part of why Natasha was so angry when Loki took Clint; what he did masked their bond until she was able to recalibrate him.**

**So this, of course, is what Rumlow and the others were doing while Jemma was asleep for those three days. Thrashing out their differences and figuring out how to find her. And in the end, Rumlow is left with no choice but to make the call and agree to HYDRA's demands – whatever they will be. Which we'll find out about soon ;)**


	19. The Commander's Woman

**Chapter Nineteen – The Commander's Woman**

_Survivor – Eye Of The Tiger_

**Trigger warning: This chapter contains an attempted rape. (It's very, VERY rare for anyone actually to get raped in one of my fics. It just NEARLY happens a lot. Sorry. It's a trope but one I tend to use in my action-romances).**

Jemma talked to Bucky for hours, until her throat was sore again, telling him everything she knew about him, about the Howling Commandos and about Captain America – and she _had_ paid attention in history class. He listened intently, occasionally asking soft-voiced questions. Throughout it all he never moved his hand off hers, and she suspected he was utterly starved for human contact. Even though it wasn't technically _human_ contact, with his metal hand on hers – and did she ever have a lot of questions about _that_, about the bio-mechanical interface and the feedback – but they would all have to wait. Right now Bucky's need for knowledge was a lot greater than hers.

Finally she came up to the modern day, told him about Steve Rogers being recovered from the ice. A soft gasp was Bucky's only reaction to that. He asked a few, _very_ incredulous questions when she talked about Thor and Loki and the Battle of New York, but then went quiet again when she haltingly explained the fall of SHIELD and what she knew of the Winter Soldier's part in it.

"Steve Rogers was on the TV a few days later, appealing for information on your whereabouts. He didn't say you were Bucky Barnes but they had photos of you as you'd been seen last. He said you saved his life, pulled him out of the river."

"I…" Bucky said slowly. "It wasn't right, to let him drown. I knew him."

"Has _anything_ I've said jogged your memory?" Jemma asked wearily, leaning her head against the bars of the cell.

"… Pretty much everything, actually. There's still lots of holes, but I think they're all from – my time as the Winter Soldier. It feels strange, like my memories were always there, but I couldn't actually access them before."

"You remember?" Jemma said, a little shocked. "More than what I've told you, even?"

"Yeah." His cold metal fingers squeezed gently on hers. "I can _see_ it, in my mind. Real memories. Thank you, Jemma."

She had to take deep, stunned breaths. "You really _are_ Bucky Barnes."

He chuckled, a low rumble of laughter. "I really am Bucky Barnes." He sounded wondering. "An' I don't think I'll forget again."

There was a sound, suddenly, along the corridor, the first outside their cells since they'd begun talking. Bucky snatched his hand from Jemma's and was on his feet in a moment. Jemma scrambled up a bit less gracefully, peering between the bars; the sound was coming from the end of the corridor closer to her, not Bucky. Boots clumping along, not the neat tap of Bakshi's expensively shod feet. Instinctively she backed away from the bars, was very glad she had a moment later when Jack Rollins strode into view.

"There you are, pretty," he murmured, coming closer, his eyes roving over her, a lascivious smile curving his scarred mouth.

"Stay away from me!" Jemma panicked. He curled his hands around the bars and looked down at her as she backed right up against the back wall of the cell, getting as far away from him as she possibly could.

"No need to be like that, now. Looks like you might be here for a fair few days since Rumlow's dragging his heels about coming in. Life could get a good deal more comfortable if you were willing to _co-operate_." His smile left her in no doubt as to what he wanted.

"No," Jemma said flatly.

"It's gonna happen, pretty. Your choice as to whether we do it the easy way or the _hard_ way." He lowered a hand, adjusted his groin. Jemma refused to look. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Hmm." Rollins eyed her thoughtfully, and then turned away, going to the desk. "Now where did Bakshi leave that key?"

_Oh God, please let Bakshi have taken it with him!_

"You shouldn't touch her," Bucky's voice made her jump. "She belongs to the Commander. He'll be angry." His voice had reverted to the flat, unemotional tone he'd used when he first started talking to Jemma, and she realised he was acting the part of the Winter Soldier again.

"Shut the fuck up, Soldier, you don't know shit about it. You don't even fucking jack off, never mind know what it takes to please a woman." Rollins kept looking through the desk drawer.

"She's the Commander's woman," Bucky said stubbornly. "He'll be angry. He'll punish you."

"He ain't here!" Rollins turned and glared aggressively at Bucky. _Why the fuck was the Soldier even talking anyway?_ He looked back and forth between the two cells, grinning suddenly. "Got a crush on her yourself, Soldier? Or is it Rumlow's scent on her that's got you all interested?"

Bucky _growled_.

"Yeah, well, there's fuck all you can do about it anyway. Vibranium-sheathed bars for these cells cost a mint but they'll hold even you. So you'll just have to listen, won't you?" He lifted a big hand, a chain dangling from it, keys tinkling at the end. "Her screams are gonna sound so sweet."

Jemma was completely unashamed of the fact that she screamed her head off as Rollins unlocked her cell door. She was hoping that someone would hear. Even Bakshi, that he might come back and order Rollins out. Rollins moved towards her, grinning widely, towering over her. He was a big man, three or four inches past six feet, and powerful. Combat trained and enhanced, Jemma was all too horribly aware that she had absolutely no chance against him.

"Love the sounds, pretty."

The scent hit Jemma first. Pheromones, she realised instantly, like Brock's, only he'd thought Rollins had conscious control of them. Except they didn't affect her at all like Brock's intoxicating, delicious scent did.

He smelled like rotting meat. She gagged, her eyes watering. "Get away from me!"

A powerful hand knotted in the front of her scrubs shirt. "Come here, pretty. Let's see what has Rumlow willing to jeopardise everything for you."

"No!" she fought despite her despair, striking out as she'd learned in self-defence classes at SHIELD Academy, her moves later refined and hardened by May's stern tutelage. Not that it made any difference against Rollins; he fended her strikes away with a low laugh, dragging her towards the bed.

"No! _NO!_" Jemma screamed as he forced her down, ripping the thin fabric of the scrubs top away as though it was paper.

And then a dull _boom_ behind Rollins made him blink and turn his head. "What the fuck..?"

Cracks zigzagged down the concrete wall. A second _boom_ sounded, and chunks of the wall began to topple.

Rollins let go of Jemma. She took the opportunity to kick him as hard as she could in the groin, wriggling over the other side of the bed and scrambling away.

"Ah, you fucking bitch!" Rollins doubled over. Barefoot, she hadn't been able to get all that much power into the kick, but it was enough to really fucking hurt even him. _And what the fuck was going on, why was the Soldier smashing his way into the cell?_

Like the cowardly rat he was, Rollins took the path of least resistance. Back out through the cell door, locking it hastily and backing away with the key in his hand.

Jemma crouched in the corner of the cell, clutching her tattered shirt around her. Eyes wide, she watched as the Winter Soldier's metal arm punched right through the concrete wall, kept _on_ punching until he'd made a hole big enough for the man himself to clamber through.

"Vibranium bars," Bucky turned his head to look at a wide-eyed Rollins outside the cell. "Not walls."

Rollins ran for it.

Bucky turned to look at the shuddering girl in the corner of the cell. Tears streaked down her cheeks, but she met his gaze steadily.

Jemma stared up at the Winter Soldier. He wasn't as tall as Rollins, more Rumlow's size, and nearly as thickly muscled, the metal left arm perfectly proportioned to the right. Jaggedly cut black hair fell around his thickly bearded face, but it was the blue eyes that caught her attention, bright in the cell's dim lighting as he stared at her.

"I'm not going to just lie back and let you rape me either," Jemma said defiantly, even though her voice came out wobbly. "I'll fight you too…"

Bucky took his shirt off and held out to her, figuring the action would speak louder than any words.

Jemma stared at him for a moment. And then hesitantly reached out and grabbed the shirt, tugging it over her head, pulling the tattered scrubs top out from under it once it was over her breasts. It was a black T-shirt, not a scrubs top, and big enough that it was almost like a dress on her, baggy and long.

Bucky nodded with approval. "Better."

"You don't want to…?" she trailed off. "I heard what Rollins said."

"You're the Commander's soulmate," Bucky shook his shaggy dark head. "The one person in years who's shown me the slightest hint of compassion; I'd be a poor damn excuse for a man if I laid so much as a finger on you. Not that I would on _any_ woman who wasn't willing, but most especially not _you_."

Jemma began to cry in earnest than as she realised just what would most definitely have happened if Bucky hadn't smashed his way through that wall. "Thank you," she hiccupped, wiping her face with the tattered remnants of her scrub top. "I'm sorry. I don't usually cry at the drop of a hat."

"You've been stolen away from your soulmate, locked up and nearly raped, I think you can be forgiven a few tears," Bucky said dryly. "I'd offer to hug you, but frankly I'm a bit scared of what the Commander will do to me if I get any more of my scent on you than you'll get from wearing my shirt. He's gonna be fuckin' angry enough as it is, I don't want to provoke him any further."

He perched on the edge of the bed, making sure he could clearly see every angle outside the cell. If Rollins came back with reinforcements – or guns – he needed to be ready.

Jemma indulged in a good cry for about a minute before pulling herself together, wiping her face one last time and getting slowly to her feet.

"I don't suppose you could punch through that wall?" she asked thoughtfully, pointing at the back wall of the cell.

Bucky turned his head in surprise. "It only just occurred to me to punch through this one!" he got up, though, and knocked on the back wall with his metal fist. "This one's a lot thicker. The separating walls are standard four-inch concrete slabs. I'm not sure I could go through this one without too much damage to my arm."

"Don't try it, then." Jemma headed to the front of the cell, examined the way the bars were set into the concrete. Climbed through into Bucky's cell and looked at them there, too. And then she looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

_**Now**_** you're thinking, Jemma.**

**Incidentally, the way Rollins calls Jemma 'pretty' all the time? That's a reference to another of my favourite movies, **_**Highlander**_**. The Kurgan (the bad guy) calls Conor's first wife Heather that just before he rapes and murders her (off-screen!) Ever since I first saw that, any man calling a woman 'pretty' as a nickname or endearment has given me the cold shivers.**

**And d'oh, HYDRA! Didn't quite think that cell construction through, did they? Although they didn't count on Bucky breaking his brainwashing, with Jemma's help, enough to figure out how to circumvent their precautions.**

**Annnnd… I've hit a bit of a block. Might be a couple of days until the next chapter, sorry!**


	20. She's Everything

**Chapter Twenty – She's Everything**

_You Me At Six – Room To Breathe_

The hours ground by agonisingly slowly for Brock. Steve appeared to have appointed himself as Brock's minder and followed him everywhere, almost bullying him into eating and resting while they waited. The phone number had been nothing more than an automated message service. Brock left details of an email address and then there was nothing he could do but sit and wait. Maria threw the Hub's armoury open to him; it was tempting to take everything he could damn well carry but going in equipped for war would only guarantee Jemma's death. In the end he only selected a couple more guns and knives.

He was sitting now in the simple quarters made available for him, drawing a whetstone slowly along the blade of one of the knives. Steve sat in a chair, apparently reading a book but in reality watching Rumlow.

"You're gonna sharpen that blade away to nothing if you keep that up," Steve said finally.

The stone stilled, but Rumlow didn't look up from the blade in his lap. "I have to do something," he said finally. "The waiting's killing me."

"You were always pretty good at it before. Used to tell me to wait, look, don't just jump in headlong," Steve recalled.

"Well, someone had to rein in your reckless hothead tendencies," a small smile quirked Rumlow's mouth. "Why d'you think Fury gave you to me in the first place? He didn't want you running around on the loose getting into random trouble."

Steve suddenly felt very young. Fury had been pandering to his ego, he realised now; giving him the STRIKE team as his 'backup' as the former Director had put it, but in actuality setting Rumlow to supervise and teach him the ways of modern warfare. He said nothing, and after a few moments Rumlow sighed and looked up, meeting his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Steve didn't have to ask what for.

"You were under orders. And I'm just realising now that you were holding back in that fight in the elevator."

"Yeah, well, I had to let you escape without arousing any suspicions of me. I'm glad you managed to cold-cock Rollins early. He could have been trouble." At the thought of his former second-in-command, Rumlow's hand tightened on the knife hilt.

Steve saw the movement. "So why the impatience now?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"You don't have a soulmark, do you, Cap?" Rumlow asked.

Steve shook his head.

"Didn't think so. Look, for twenty-seven years I've _known_ that somewhere out there was a girl who would be _everything_ to me. Everything I ever needed, everything I could ever want. I found her in the most horrible of circumstances and realised that she was so much more than I'd ever even dared hope. She's brilliant, she's beautiful, she's – she's just…" He didn't have the words, shaking his dark head slowly. "She's _everything_. I don't deserve her, but – I had her for the barest breath of time, fell so hopelessly in love I can't even begin to tell you – and now she's _gone_. I don't know what HYDRA are _doing_ to her, if she'll even still be my Jemma when – _if_ – I get her back or if they'll have destroyed her mind so completely…"

He was starting to shake.

"Easy. Easy, Rumlow, breathe." Steve tried to ease the knife from his grip, but he couldn't let go.

"I. Need. Her. Back."

"We'll get her back. Rumlow, _breathe_."

He wasn't sure when he'd last slept. He'd watched over Jemma all night when she was sick, unable to sleep for worry over her. It must have been the night before, after he made love to her and she slept in his arms as trustingly as a child. Three nights ago now, or was it four? Dark spots swam in front of his eyes. "Jemma," he whispered, not even aware when the door slid open and Clint shot him with a tranquiliser dart.

"Damn it, Clint!" Steve just barely managed to grab the knife before Rumlow's releasing grip slid the blade into his own leg. "What the hell…?"

"Hill sent me," Clint pointed up at the camera inconspicuously mounted in a corner of the ceiling. "We need him functioning. Not insane from stress and sleep deprivation."

"What if the message comes back, though?"

"It just did. Meeting's in ten hours. In Dallas. Suit up, Cap," Clint turned and headed back out. "We're leaving shortly. He can sleep on the Bus."

Steve sighed, looking at the unconscious man slumped on the bed. _Figures. They'll want me to carry him. He's a heavy bastard, too._

"Now you know how it feels," Sam said sardonically as Steve hauled Rumlow up the Bus ramp over his shoulder. "You bloody super-soldiers are really fucking heavy."

Even Steve was sweating. He grunted, looked up the stairs. "Hell. Up there?"

"Off you go, Cap. Your weight training for the day."

They put Rumlow in the Cage, not sure how pissed off he'd be when he woke, and headed into the command centre to refine the plan for a tactical assault on the Cybertek facility in Texas. With the meet planned for Dallas, it had to be where Jemma was being held. Emails had bounced back and forth, arranging for Rumlow to meet with Bakshi, and Rumlow had made it a condition that Jemma had to be produced alive and well before he agreed to anything. Which meant that in a few hours' time, Bakshi would have to bring Jemma out of that facility. They planned to ambush him then. Tony would go in once they were sure Jemma was out and destroy the place, make sure there were no HYDRA reinforcements coming out, and then the fight would be down to Bakshi and whoever he had with him against the SHIELD crew, the Avengers and a very angry Rumlow.

Which should be the very definition of an unequal fight.

That said, they were all well aware that plans very rarely survive first contact with the enemy, so they were also planning to stage an assault on the facility itself, if necessary. Which could get messy, if there were Cybertek-enhanced soldiers in them. Skye had shared her eye-hacking techniques with Natasha and Tony and the SHIELD team had thoroughly briefed the Avengers on Centipede.

"Fucking Extremis-based," Tony muttered, sharing a dark look with Natasha. "I do not like that shit."

A roar made them all flinch.

"Think Rumlow's awake," Skye said sardonically. "Bags I be the one to tell him that Hawkeye tranked him."

Clint gave her a dirty look. She smiled sweetly back. Skye had seriously had enough of the Avengers already. They showed absolutely no respect for Coulson and his decisions. And while Skye didn't necessarily think Coulson was always right about everything, they _were_ his decisions to make. Plus Natasha and Tony had totally taken over her hacking jobs. It was annoying her, even if Natasha was at least polite about her skills.

"Off you go, then," Natasha said.

"Hm?"

"Go on. You wanted to talk to Rumlow. Someone needs to go cool him down. He's just woken up locked in a cage. Be my guest."

_Oh, shit_, Skye thought, but then she _had_ volunteered. Coulson gave her a Look and she turned and slouched out grumpily.

Steve Rogers followed her.

"I don't need a bodyguard," she muttered at him as they headed towards the Cage door.

"You might," was his only response. "I don't doubt you can handle yourself, miss, but Rumlow's very dangerous – and possibly unpredictable, with his soulmate missing."

Skye gritted her teeth. "I wish you'd all stop calling her _his soulmate_. She's _Jemma_, my friend, and an important part of this team."

"I'm sorry," Steve said quietly. "I guess we've been so focussed on Rumlow that we forget you've lost someone too. I know how that feels, believe me."

Skye softened slightly as she looked up at him. "Yes. I suppose no one knows better than you, huh?"

He gave her a very tight smile and inclined his head slightly. "Please," he indicated the door, "let me go in first."

"All right," Skye drew and checked her ICER. "But try and give me a clear shot if he does go berserk." They could see on the monitor that Rumlow was just standing behind the table in the middle of the Cage. Waiting.

"What the fuck's going on, Rogers?" Brock snapped as soon as the door opened, and Steve entered, followed by Jemma's friend Skye.

"Hawkeye tranked you, on Hill's orders." It was Skye who spoke, and he switched his attention to her. She found herself quailing somewhat under the impact of his dark gaze. "We need you functioning, Rumlow. The meet's in," she checked her watch, "four hours, now. In Dallas."

"Hmmm." He surveyed her for a long moment and then switched his attention back to Steve. "My weapons?"

"Downstairs. You're not a prisoner, Rumlow." Steve gestured at the open door. "Really. But you needed the rest. You'll be a lot more good to Jemma rested."

Brock nodded, finding his focus again, walking silently past Steve and Skye. They exchanged glances and went after him.

"You know your way around the Bus?" Skye couldn't help but ask as he strode confidently aft and down the stairs, going directly to the weapons locker.

Rumlow smiled dryly down at her. "I made most of the suggestions for outfitting it." He pulled out his weapons harness, crossing it over his chest and tightening the straps, pulling his stun batons and checking their charge. Steve couldn't help but take a slight step back, remembering how much the damn things had hurt.

"I pity anyone who gets between you and Jemma," Steve said impulsively.

"Save your pity for those who deserve it, Cap." Rumlow drew a gun next and started checking it. "Rollins and Bakshi sure as hell don't." He looked down the open ramp of the Bus. "Why aren't we moving out?"

"Waiting for reinforcements." Steve peered out. Saw a dust cloud in the distance. "Looks like them now."

It was three black SUVs, coming fast in the gathering twilight. And when they came to a halt not far from the Bus, the drivers stepped out to reveal a couple of anonymous government suits – and a petite, attractive blonde woman.

A smile cracked Rumlow's face. "Skull!"

"Bones," Sharon Carter came striding up the ramp and pulled him into a hug. "Maria filled me in. I'm so sorry."

"We'll get it sorted." Rumlow hugged her back.

"Skull and Bones?" Steve said, slightly bemused. They both ignored him. Skye, still standing at his side, laughed suddenly.

"I really wouldn't have picked Director Fury as the type to make pirate jokes! The pirate flag, geddit? Skull and Crossbones?" She pointed at the crossed straps over Rumlow's chest. "Those are surprisingly cool nicknames."

With the extra CIA vehicles, there was plenty of room for all of them. The Cybertek facility was on the outskirts of Dallas and only three miles from the arranged meet point, so they headed there first for a quick scout around. Tony was itching to go airborne, but Iron Man zooming around would definitely tip HYDRA off that something was up, so Natasha held onto the suitcase suit and glared at him every time he opened his mouth.

There was very little to see at the facility. It was a row of grey concrete cube buildings, all similar looking, behind high razor-wire fences. And it was far too large to go in without some idea of where to search for Jemma.

"All right," Maria was co-ordinating the operation, as the only person who'd worked with all of them before. Her calm voice on the comms steadied all of them. "As we thought. So this is where we split up. Bones, you're going to the meet point with Hawkeye, Widow and Skull for cover. We believe Skull may be the only operative we have not known to Bakshi by sight, so she's going to go in ahead of you."

Sharon had already donned a black wig and raided Skye's boho-chic wardrobe. Dressed in denim jacket, lace blouse and a floral skirt, she looked about sixteen and couldn't have looked anything less like the lethal operative she actually was.

"If Rollins is there, get the hell out," Rumlow told her firmly. "He'll know you."

Sharon nodded calmly. "I've done a bit of undercover work before, Brock," she understated, rolling her eyes at him. "He'd never even see me. Don't worry. And if all goes according to plan, it won't get that far."

"Hm." Brock couldn't like not being in on the assault on the vehicle they hoped was carrying Jemma, but he had no choice but to accept that he had to be at the meet point, just in case.

"We'll get her back, Rumlow." Steve's hand landed on his shoulder, and he nodded.

_Gotta trust in Cap_, he told himself, knowing that Steve would lead the attack and move heaven and earth to see Jemma safe.

"Well," he said aloud, standing up, "let's get to it."

**A quick note on timeline; the last couple of chapters have been out of sequential order because people wanted to know what was happening with Jemma. The very last bit of this chapter occurs at just about the same time as Jemma wakes up and Bakshi goes in to speak to her and let her out of her restraints. So as the crew set off to prepare, she's just meeting Bucky…**


	21. No Plan Survives Contact

**Chapter Twenty-One – No Plan Survives Contact**

_U2 – All I Want Is You_

"Brock," Maria's voice crackled in his ear, "there's only one heat signature in the vehicle, and that's the driver. No other vehicles moving in the plant."

_Fucking hell_. They'd hoped that Bakshi would bring Jemma out with him – Rumlow had demanded it – but Bakshi obviously had something else planned. _Tricky bastard_. Brock bared his teeth with frustration.

"Copy that," he murmured finally. "Plan B."

Plan B was that Brock would demand Jemma be brought out. Plan C was that he go in, and once he reached her location, use an electronic signaller that Tony had fixed to the inside of one of his front teeth, to let the team know he had Jemma. He would then protect her while the team assaulted the facility to get them out – if, of course, he couldn't talk their way out.

All the plans went straight in the crapper when Bakshi sat down and pulled out his phone.

"Here's your proof of life, Rumlow," he said without preamble. "Live feed from her cell."

Brock took the phone. The camera was filming from the front, through cell bars. He could see Jemma sitting on the floor, against the bars on one side, but nothing else. She was right in the corner of the picture.

"How do I know this is live?" he said, willing his voice not to shake. She looked all right. No bruises, no marks. Her hair was even combed and she was wearing light blue hospital scrubs.

Bakshi shrugged. "I could call and order someone to go in and wave, if you like?"

Rumlow looked into his eyes. Saw the fear there. "No. I believe you." And he did. Bakshi knew what he was capable of, wouldn't dare double-cross him. "So what's the deal?"

"The higher-ups want you back, Rumlow. They're prepared to let you keep her, but you know very well they'll try to use her to control you. They're not happy about what you did in Charlotte, mind you, but considering your past service," Bakshi shrugged again. "If Whitehall was still alive, I daresay you'd be _made_ to comply. But with him gone, there's no one else as effective at the process."

"It might well not work on _us_ anyway," Brock looked back down at the phone in his hand. It was a good, clear image. He could see Jemma's lips moving; she was talking to someone. A fellow prisoner, perhaps?

"She's fine, Rumlow," Bakshi sighed as he saw Rumlow look down. "She was sick as a dog when she came in, some nasty flu-type virus, but I handed her over to medical and they sorted her out. No one's hurt her, I promise you."

"Rollins?"

"I pulled some strings and had him sent on an errand to Miami. He should be back in a day or so, so you don't want to delay too long." Bakshi hesitated, then admitted the truth. "The two of us don't get along without you around."

Rumlow smiled tightly. "I can imagine you wouldn't. Questioning your authority, is he?"

Bakshi said nothing.

"I want Jemma out."

"You know that's not going to happen. She's SHIELD and she could be used to compromise you. Like I said, the higher-ups are prepared to let you keep her – but you already went rogue for her sake once. I know from personal experience how smart she is. Who's to say she couldn't convince you to switch sides?"

Brock laughed harshly at that. "Switch sides, are you kidding me? _Me?_ I'd be for the firing squad if Coulson ever caught up with me, we both know that. I couldn't sing loud or long enough to save my neck, not with the things I've done."

Bakshi smirked, nodding. "Well, I'm glad you're smart enough to see that. So you see, you really have no option, Rumlow. You need to come back in."

Rumlow sat for a moment. Looked down at the phone again. "I'll get to keep her?" he made his voice come out low and snarling. It wasn't difficult, considering the rage bubbling deep inside him.

Bakshi's smirk widened, thinking he'd found Rumlow's weakness. "You know I'm not the ultimate authority. But I spoke to von Strucker and he's prepared to forgive and forget, as long as you come in."

"Any restrictions?"

"What, unarmed? I wouldn't insult you that way, sir." The _sir_ slipped out unintentionally, and Bakshi silently cursed himself. Technically, he and Rumlow were – or had been, anyway – equal in rank within HYDRA. The need to show deference to the other man seemed to be instinctual after they were enhanced, though; he couldn't help himself. He could fight it with Rollins – the man was an idiot – but Rumlow was another matter.

"Good." Rumlow took one last glance down at the phone in his hand, at Jemma sitting on the floor of her cell. "Let's be going, then." He hadn't touched anything, but the camera feed suddenly shut off. "What the… did you do that?"

"Do what?" Bakshi took the phone back, tapped buttons. Scowled and dialled a number, lifting the phone to his ear. "The camera feed's down, what the hell?" he snapped when someone answered at the other end.

Brock's enhanced hearing quite clearly picked up the answer. "Rollins has gone in, sir, he must have cut the feed."

"Send them in after him," Brock was on his feet instantly, grabbing Bakshi's expensive silk tie. "Right the fuck now. And we're going there. Now. _Move!_"

Bakshi gabbled hasty orders as Rumlow dragged him to his feet. He pointed outside, to the car he'd come in, and the two men rushed for it at once.

Brock snatched the phone as they reached the car, put it on speaker as Bakshi started the vehicle and peeled out of the parking space. He knew the rest of the team were listening in on comms and this really wasn't the way even Plan C was supposed to go down, but with Rollins in there with Jemma…

"Rollins has come out, sir," the voice on the other end of the line said shakily.

"Get the camera feed back up!" Bakshi ordered.

"Sir – Rollins says the Soldier is loose. He's locked the vault door." The voice firmed slightly. "I'm not going in there if the Soldier's on the loose, sir. I'd rather you shot me." And the line was abruptly cut.

"Fucking cowards!" Bakshi spat. He cast one look at Rumlow's bared teeth and pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator.

"What the fuck, Bakshi, you said Rollins was in Miami – and what the _fuck_ is the Winter Soldier doing here?" Rumlow knew everything he said was being picked up by the tiny, flesh-coloured comm button in his ear. His would be muted unless he deliberately keyed it on, though, they couldn't risk Bakshi hearing something and realising he was wired. This haste might actually work in his favour, Rumlow realised; Bakshi might well be too distracted to have him searched.

"Rollins was in Miami but obviously he's back early!" Bakshi ran a red light. "As for the Soldier, they picked him up about six weeks ago in Georgia, of all places. His cryo tube was destroyed in the Triskelion basement and there wasn't a spare; they're making a new one in Austria and shipping it out, but it's not here yet. Even with frequent wipes he was getting difficult to manage, so when I got out of Gitmo they sent me here to keep an eye on him. He doesn't listen to me like he does you, but I can keep him reasonably quiet without resorting to overly brutal tactics."

_Like Rollins_, Rumlow thought but didn't say. He hadn't really mentioned the Winter Soldier to the Avengers, since he had no idea where Barnes was. Hearing that he'd been in captivity for _weeks_ though – why the hell hadn't they called Rumlow in to manage him? He said as much.

Bakshi glanced sideways at him. "Rollins was the one who found him. I heard he convinced the powers that be that you'd always been too soft on him."

Rumlow snorted. "He's not a dog. No point treating him like one. Even if he was, you beat a dog, it's gunna bite you."

A tight smile curved Bakshi's mouth. "I think Rollins found that out."

They were coming up on the facility now. It was late, after ten o'clock, and full dark, and there were lights blazing everywhere, men running around like ants. For a horrible moment Brock wondered if the Avengers had kicked off the attack without him, but then realised he couldn't hear gunfire anywhere.

"What the hell," Bakshi muttered as the security guard opened the gates to let them in. There was no point arguing with the guard, though, so he turned the car and drove to the last but one concrete cube.

"This the place?" Brock got out of the car quickly and headed for the door.

"Yes, this is the medical and holding facility. Rumlow…"

"Shut up and move, Bakshi!" He turned with a snarl, and the other man cast his eyes down, stilling. Acknowledging the greater predator.

Aware he would probably lose the signal the second he walked through the door, Rumlow glanced up at the sky and quickly flicked his tongue three times against the signaller glued to his tooth. It was an agreed signal. They'd give him ten minutes and then come in guns blazing. He needed to get to Jemma before that happened.

"Bucky's in there, I'm going in now!" Steve was on his feet as soon as Rumlow set the locator off. Tony, suited up and ready, was the only one with a chance of stopping him – and he did, crashing into him hard and taking them both to the ground.

"Ten minutes, Steve, that's the signal. If you jump the gun and get Jemma killed, you won't bloody survive long enough to see Bucky again because Rumlow will kill you!"

"And if he doesn't, one of us will," Bobbi muttered, fingering her stun batons.

"Patience! Hawk's inbound with Widow and Skull, Bakshi took off like a bat out of hell and they're a couple of minutes behind anyway. Let's wait until we have everyone here and the best chance of success, hmm?"

All eyes were on Steve, panting on the ground, Tony holding him down with his armour.

"Fine!" he snapped at last. "Who's got the timer?"

"It's on the clock, Steve," Maria's voice said in his ear, completely unruffled. "Nine minutes and seven seconds to go. Tony, flash them a heads-up display so I can show them which building."

Within a minute the other car screeched up and Clint, Natasha and Sharon piled out, coming over to look at the display Tony's helmet was projecting onto the ground as they thrashed out their tactics for the assault. "Gimme a lift, Stark," Clint demanded as the timer ticked down to zero, and Tony grinned, snapping his faceplate down.

"Time to rock 'n'roll!"

They were all startled by the explosion that blew out a good chunk of one of the building's walls.

**Where Rumlow goes, explosions seem to follow – a lot can happen in ten minutes. As we'll see in the next chapter…**


	22. Diversion

**Chapter Twenty-Two – Diversion **

_Green Day - Warning_

Rumlow ran through the facility as Bakshi directed, clattering up a flight of stairs and along a hallway to a security station. Which was abandoned.

Bakshi swore long and loud when he saw that. "Fucking cowards!"

"They're too afraid of you. Fear alone isn't enough to rule," Rumlow said, and then could have kicked himself for the un-HYDRA-like remark. Well, within a few minutes it was unlikely to matter anyway.

Bakshi gave him a strange look. "That's a bit rich, coming from you!" He headed to the huge steel door behind the security station, slapped his hand on a palm-print reader and leaned forward to have his retina scanned. "You ready? If the Soldier's on the loose…"

"If he's hurt Jemma I'll butcher him," Rumlow said without so much as a blink, and with total honesty, and Bakshi grinned tightly and opened the door.

Stun baton in one hand and gun in the other, Rumlow advanced. There were four cells on one side and a desk on the other, that was it. The first two cells were completely empty. The last two were simply furnished – and had a large hole in the separating wall between them.

Brock whirled at a clank behind him.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Bakshi had locked the vault door. He was locked in

But where the hell were Barnes and Jemma? He stepped closer, looking into the empty cells, saw a mess of dust and small rubble on the floor. Looked up, saw the hole in the ceiling and grinned.

"Goddamn, baby girl. You are fucking brilliant."

The cell keys were on the desk. He snagged them and let himself in, hopped lightly up onto the bed below the hole and listened for a moment. All quiet. The ceiling was low enough he could put his hands on it easily – obviously Barnes had punched through it. At Jemma's instigation, he'd bet. Glancing around the cell one last time, he saw the tattered scrub top on the floor in the corner and realised instantly that it was what Jemma had been wearing. A snarl was just curling his upper lip when the first gunshots sounded on the floor above.

Bucky had laughed when Jemma suggested punching a hole in the ceiling. "Surely it won't be that easy?" He climbed up on the bed, though, knocked thoughtfully. His blue eyes widened. "Wow – it isn't all that thick!"

"Weight," Jemma said succinctly. "It's heavy work lifting thick slabs of concrete when thinner ones will do. Ceilings are always thinner."

"Stand back, then. And give me that so I can keep the dust out of my eyes," Bucky gestured at the rag. She handed it over and backed into the corner, watching as he put it over his face – it was thin enough he'd still be able to see – before pulling back his metal fist and punching.

He was through the ceiling in under a minute, scrambling up and out, returning a few seconds later and reaching down through the hole for Jemma.

"Just an office up here. It's night and the place is empty. Come on up."

He caught her wrist when she clambered onto the bed and reached up, and in one smooth easy motion lifted her straight up through the hole and set her on her feet.

"Oh!" Jemma started slightly. "Thank you," she murmured a bit shyly, looking around. Bucky was right, it was an office.

It was a lab office. She could see the white lab coats on chairs behind desks, the big windows looking out onto the lab floor.

The cupboard door with a 'Hazardous Materials' sign on it.

Jemma smiled. "How do you feel about a diversion while we try to sneak out of here?" She pointed at the padlock on the cupboard door.

Bucky grinned. "I like the way you think." His metal hand crushed the padlock with ease.

"Search the building," Bakshi ordered. "Find Rollins. He didn't leave the compound so he's here still. And if anyone finds Daniels and Taylor, bring them to me."

He was in the main security centre on the ground floor of the building, guards gathered around him.

"Um, sir?" a tentative voice said. He whirled around, barely restraining a snarl.

"What?"

"Um – I don't know how it's possible, sir, but – the Winter Soldier and the woman – they're in Lab 19, sir."

"What the fuck?" Bakshi lunged across, turned the monitor around and stared. Frowned, trying to remember the building's layout, pictured it in his mind's eye… "The ceiling! Fucking hell, the Soldier somehow went through the ceiling – right, you, you and you, go in through the western door, hold the stairs on that side, call another squad for backup…"

"Protocol, sir?"

"Kill the Soldier. He's more trouble than he's fucking worth. Keep the woman alive, if possible. I _know_ none of you want to deal with Rumlow in a bad mood."

Jemma was only halfway through making her bomb when a door crashed open and a voice shouted;

"Come out with your hands up!"

"Oh shit!" she whimpered.

Bucky reached past her, took a bottle of nitric acid and threw it. And then he grabbed her, pulled her away from the lab bench and forced her down behind it. Which was good, because the bullets that immediately started flying _spanged_ nicely off the stainless steel bench instead of going through her.

"Jemma!" a wonderfully familiar voice shouted a few seconds later, and she spun, her eyes widening, as bullets started flying back in the opposite direction. Brock came striding out of the lab office towards her, a gun in each hand, bullets spitting out with precision silencing the opposing gunfire almost immediately. Tall, dark and lethal, she'd never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

"Brock!" she screamed, scrambling up to go to him, but Bucky's hand forced her back down.

"Stay down, there's more coming!" he yelled, held his hand out towards Rumlow. "Commander!"

Rumlow only hesitated a moment before throwing Bucky one of his guns, and a fresh clip to go with it. He kept coming though, until he was standing right over Jemma, both he and Bucky facing out through the lab door, guns ready.

"Oh God," Jemma couldn't help from wrapping herself around Brock's legs and clinging to him. He stooped, kissed her quickly and hungrily, ran his fingers into her hair.

"You're all right, baby girl?"

"I am now you're here. Bucky looked after me…"

"Yes," Rumlow eyed Bucky thoughtfully. "I'm not really HYDRA," he offered.

"Suspected you might not be. Especially once I'd met your soulmate." Bucky gave him a half-grin. "We gotta make a move, Commander. They'll be in here with grenades and rocket launchers in a minute." He fired a shot through the door. They heard a distant yelp.

Rumlow looked at the chemicals on the bench. "You were making a bomb, Jemma? Can you finish it fast?"

"Can I get up?"

"We'll buy you however much time you need. Come on, Barnes."

Brock handed Bucky another gun, drew his backup pair. With both of them going through the ammunition and the size of the facility, it would be hand to hand soon enough, and that's if they didn't get trapped and pinned down by superior firepower. They needed to get over to the bodies they'd already downed and find more ammo.

Jemma watched in awe as the pair of them darted away, firing quick bursts, stooping to grab extra guns or ammo. They were lethal, moving in perfect sync with each other, spinning to take out threats to each other's backs. Making sure that none of their opponents ever got even a glance at her. Shaking her head, she forced her attention back to her highly volatile chemistry.

She mixed quickly, roughly measuring out the chemicals. Poured four beakers of the mixture and placed them by the windows, shoving furniture around them and angling it to direct the blast. Physics was more Fitz's area of expertise, but she knew enough about explosives to guess. Without a detonator she'd need a spark, but a bullet could provide that.

"Brock!" she shouted. "It's ready!"

He came loping back towards her, Bucky behind him, covering his back. Glanced around at her preparations and nodded approvingly.

"Awesome job, baby girl. How do we set it off?"

"A bullet into any one of the beakers – the explosive force will set them all off."

"Better take cover, then, go into the office and get under a desk. Barnes, take her."

"I'm the better shot, Commander."

It was the first time Bucky had ever defied or questioned an order from Rumlow. He hesitated, staring at the Soldier. "You are," he conceded at last. "But I'm relying on you to get Jemma out of here if something happens to me. Backup is less than a minute out. A friend of yours is with them, he'll be happy to see you."

Bucky's blue eyes widened. "Steve?" he said wonderingly.

"That's right. He knows you're in here, and if I let you get killed I don't think he'll let me live. So go in there and look after Jemma while I set this bomb off."

They could hear running feet and shouting. More guards, with heavier weapons. It was now or never. Bucky didn't hesitate, just dragged Jemma into the office and pushed her under the sturdiest desk, packing himself in behind her, ensuring that his body was between her and the explosion to come.

Rumlow backed to the far corner of the lab. Put as much of his body as he could behind a lab bench. Aimed. Said a silent prayer that the explosion wouldn't be as massive as he thought it might. And pulled the trigger.

**So **_**Jemma**_** made the bomb.**

**Let's just hope she got her chemistry right…**

… **what am I saying, this is Jemma, she loves homework more than life itself.**


	23. Boom

**Chapter Twenty-Three - Boom**

_Rage Against The Machine – Killing In The Name Of_

**BOOM.**

To the horrified eyes of the team waiting to go in and storm the compound, it looked at first as though the whole building had exploded. And then the smoke started to clear and they realised it was just part of the side of the building that had blown out.

"Tony, get me in there!" Steve yelled, and practically flung himself on Tony's back.

"My lift!" Clint yelled angrily as Tony took off.

"Come on, I'll take you. We still need eyes up high."

"Oh, you're not as fun," Clint muttered under his breath, but grabbed onto the harness straps dangling from Sam's waist anyway.

"Time to go guys, go go go!" Hill was yelling on the comms, and the rest of the assault team jumped in their vehicles and headed towards the Cybertek compound at top speed.

**BOOM.**

The explosion was just as big as Rumlow had feared; even with the directioning of the blast by Jemma's careful placement of the furniture, the backblast still knocked him off his feet. He scrambled up, ears ringing, and ran for the office, saw Bucky pulling Jemma out from under a desk.

"Come on!" he got her between him and Bucky, ran for the hole blown in the side of the building. Only one floor down, an easy jump for him or Bucky, but Jemma could break her legs – he'd have to carry her – a sound made him look up and he saw Iron Man incoming, Cap on his back. _Better idea_.

"Take Jemma!" he yelled, pushing her forward.

"Brock, I won't leave you!" she shouted, turning towards him.

"Yes, you will! I need to finish this!" he gave her one hard kiss and pushed her again. She teetered on the very edge of the broken windowsill for a moment until Iron Man's arms closed around her.

"Got you, sweetheart," a mechanical voice said, Captain America went past her in a blur of red and blue, and then they were flying, Brock getting smaller and smaller in the hole in the side of the shattered building as she screamed his name.

Steve landed hard and rolled, came to his feet and found himself facing Bucky. Most definitely Bucky, no mask or camouflage makeup, no shirt even. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Bucky smiled.

"Hey, punk. You always seem to end up in the middle of a fight somehow, even if you did have to fly in to join this one."

"It's a natural talent," Steve managed to get out past the lump in his throat. He turned to look at Rumlow, still gazing out after the rapidly disappearing Iron Man. "So who's left to kill, Crossbones?"

Brock turned and smiled, showing his teeth. "Everyone. But Rollins is mine. He put his scent on Jemma. Tried to mark her." He'd smelled it when he kissed her – along with Bucky's scent on the shirt, but that wasn't invasive. No, Rollins had tried his pheromone trick on Jemma, and Brock could only hope and pray it hadn't worked.

Bucky winced. "He tried a lot worse than that. I smashed through the wall in time, though."

"Good." Rumlow gave him a thankful nod. "You want Bakshi?"

"Oh hell yes, I've a score or two to settle with that bastard."

"Then let's go."

"I have the girl, I've got Jemma," Tony said as they flew away from the building. JARVIS was already scanning her. "She appears uninjured. I'll bring her directly to you, Hill." The Bus was only a few miles away, parked discreetly on a small private airfield and cloaked. He had Jemma there in under five minutes. And there, waiting anxiously at the bottom of the ramp, was Fitz.

She stumbled out of Tony's arms and straight into Fitz's.

"Oh, Jemma!" he hugged her tightly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she turned around and glared at Tony. "Why are you still here? Go and blow that place to hell and make sure you pull Brock out first!"

"Yes, ma'am," Tony responded instinctively, and was in the air before he'd even made a conscious decision to take off. "Wow," he said irreverently into the comms, "I think I just figured out why she's Rumlow's soulmate."

The SHIELD team had broken through the security gate and surrounded the building with the hole blown in it. Comms still weren't working inside, though, so they had no contact with Cap or Rumlow. Hawkeye and Falcon were on the roof providing aerial coverage, and since it was night-time fortunately there were minimal staff on site, only the security force. Most of whom were already inside the building.

Tony streaked around, destroying everything on the ground JARVIS painted up as a target for him. He found himself smiling, invigorated. He hadn't had this much fun in a suit since – well, since before New York.

"I'm gonna bring them down," Skye decided, on the ground, "start with that one at the far end – get our friendlies out of this one as soon as possible, guys." She held out her hands, fingers spread wide, and _focussed_.

When she lowered her hands, smiling with satisfaction as the last building in the row fell in on itself, she found Sharon Carter staring at her wide-eyed.

"Fuck me, you're Quake!"

Skye winced. She'd been caught on a shaky cell-phone camera in Montreal a few weeks earlier, bringing down a HYDRA base, the earth shaking around her as she stood steady. The dust had made it impossible for the camera-wielder to get a good look at her face, but the images had hit the news anyway and the nickname Quake had promptly been coined. She didn't mind it. It could be worse. But she didn't necessarily want the _CIA_ to know about it.

"No I'm not?" she offered hopefully.

Sharon grinned. "Okay. Whatever you say. Quake. You gonna bring them all down?"

"Why the hell not?" Skye smiled back at the blonde. "The guy who owns Cybertek, Ian Quinn, once shot me. I owe him a bad turn or two for that." And she stretched out her hands towards the next building in the row.

Steve wasn't accustomed to following in anybody's wake. He was usually the one to lead the charge. He retrieved a couple of guns from bodies and then found himself following Bucky and Rumlow as they rampaged – there was no other word for it – through the building, killing everyone in sight who even looked like they might be threatening. Steve watched incredulously as grown men threw away their guns and fled at the sight of the former STRIKE commander and the Winter Soldier.

Bakshi's death was almost an anticlimax. Almost. He attempted an ambush, quite a well-planned one, but a stray bullet from Rumlow caught him in the shoulder and spun him around, dropping him to the ground almost at Bucky's feet.

"Do it," Rumlow said to Bucky quietly when Bucky hesitated to shoot the downed man. "For all those he's tortured and terrorised. You do it or I will, but he dies here."

Steve winced when Bucky shot the man through the head without so much as a blink. But then – Buck had spent God only knew how many years as an assassin. Following Rumlow's orders, too… he froze as a shout sounded from somewhere up ahead.

"Rumlow!"

Brock's head came up, and he scented the air. "Rollins," he said on a low growl. "Show yourself!" he called back.

"Fucking traitor!"

"_I'm_ a traitor? Get real! I believe in freedom, Rollins; HYDRA will never give me that! They've got a neat little slot for everyone and if you don't fit, they'll cut you out like a cancer." Rumlow stepped forward. "It's not right, Jack. People aren't made that way."

"_We_ sure aren't." Rollins stepped out into the corridor, guns in both hands, pointing steadily at Rumlow. "Why do you give a shit about ordinary people anyway? _We're_ not ordinary. We're special. They're _cattle_."

"No, they're not." Rumlow assessed rapidly. Rollins was wearing body armour; he wasn't. He'd deliberately chosen to come in without it, for the greater freedom of movement it afforded him, and because he hadn't wanted to spook Bakshi at the meet. But looking into the other man's eyes, he knew Rollins didn't want to shoot him. He wanted to _fight_ him, wanted to be dominant. "Let's do it then."

"Do what?" Rollins' eyes flickered.

"Let's put down the guns and go at it. You and me. Winner walks away."

Rollins licked his lips. "The woman."

Rumlow's eyes flared. "No."

"Yes. Winner gets to keep the woman. I only got a little taste, but she was real sweet…"

"You fucking liar, you ran like a rat after she kicked you in the nuts," Bucky said icily as Rumlow snarled. "Don't fall for it, Commander. He never touched her." He added, under his breath, too softly for Rollins to hear, "and I promise you he never will."

Rumlow nodded, finally, accepting Bucky's promise. "Fine, let's get to it, then." He lowered his guns slowly, and Rollins mirrored him. They both disarmed. Eyes on each other the whole time. Stepped forward, away from the piles of guns.

"You sure you want to do this?" Bucky said softly. "I could just shoot the asshole in the head now."

Rumlow's mouth twitched. "Nah. For once in my life, let's make it a fair fight." He pulled a knife out of his boot, twirled it expertly between his fingers. Crooked the fingers of his free hand in a beckoning gesture. "Let's have at it, Jack."

Rollins drew a knife as well and stepped forward, teeth bared. Nothing sane left in his eyes, Rumlow realised. His animal instincts had taken over completely. _God, will that happen to me one day? If it does, I hope there's someone to put me down like I will this bastard_…

Even to Steve and Bucky, the fight was so fast it was hard to follow. Rollins was bigger, with a longer reach. But Rumlow was faster – and clearly the more skilled fighter. A blur of slashes, blocks, kicks later and Rollins was down, Rumlow kneeling on his back, with a foot on his knife hand and his head yanked up, knife against his throat. Rollins wouldn't concede defeat, though, jerking and snarling under him.

"Enough," Brock snarled, digging the tip of the knife in.

"Fuck you! I had your woman, you know, up at the cabin, fucked her good – she squealed beautifully for _maarghhh_…"

The last word died off in a gurgling, bubbling scream as Rumlow cut his throat.

Brock stayed where he was for a long moment, until he felt the life go out of Rollins' body. He didn't want the bastard getting up and shooting him in the back – and he knew from personal experience that the enhanced soldiers were hard to kill. And then he stood and turned to face Steve and Bucky. He wasn't sure what he expected to see – disapproval, disgust? Bucky had a half-smile on his face, though, and even though Steve looked serious, he gave him a nod.

"Come on. Let's get out of here and get you back to your Jemma."

**And that was no more than Rollins deserved, IMHO. Nasty little pig.**


	24. I'll Be With You Soon

**Chapter Twenty-Four – I'll Be With You Soon**

_Lonestar – You're Like Coming Home_

The three men walked out of the building into what looked like a war zone. There were collapsed buildings all around them, several rows of black-clad, disarmed men kneeling under the watchful eyes and guns of Sharon Carter and Melinda May, Iron Man zooming around occasionally blowing something up.

There were police sirens screaming ever closer, but everyone else was just standing still, watching Skye as she finished crumbling the last building in the row.

A ragged cheer went up as Steve, Brock and Bucky walked out shoulder to shoulder. Skye smiled as she saw them come.

"Good; I can finish the job!" she held her hands out. They flinched slightly as the earth trembled beneath their feet, but then the building behind them started to shake and fall in on itself.

"That's a neat trick," Bucky was the first to recover from the surprise, as Skye lowered her hands.

She gave him a startled look and opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Jemma shouting on the comms. Everyone but Bucky and Brock winced and put their hands to their ears.

"_Where is he put him on RIGHT NOW!_"

Brock grinned, reached up to his ear and activated his com. "Baby girl, stop shouting. It's me you're angry with, not them."

"_Damn right I'm angry with you! Are you all right?_" The tender concern in her voice made pretty much every member of the team raise their eyebrows, but not as much as the soft, loving expression on Brock's face as he replied.

"I'm fine, my love, not a scratch. Now hush; we need to get out of here before we all get arrested. I'll be with you soon."

"_You better had be_," Jemma grumped.

Brock lowered his hand from his ear and turned back to face the others. "What?" he said. And then flushed a bit sheepishly as he realised they'd all – except Bucky – heard every word of the conversation.

They didn't get arrested. Sharon had called the local FBI chief – a former SHIELD agent – and between him, Iron Man and Captain America, the Dallas police were convinced that it was an Avengers matter and the FBI took over the site to mop up and take the remaining Cybertek security force into custody.

"Isn't he…?" the FBI guy nodded at Bucky.

"Whoever you think he is, no he's not," Sharon said blandly, and behind her back made a gesture that they all took to mean _get him the hell out of here_.

Skye sidled up to Bucky as they scrambled into vehicles to head back to the Bus. "So, uh, do you have a soulmark? Or am I just being ridiculously hopeful here?"

He froze and looked down at her, blue eyes widening.

"'Cause, uh, I have the words you first said to me on my inner thigh…"

Bucky cleared his throat rustily. "Here." He touched his hip. "That's – those words are here."

"Get in, get in!" Hunter, behind Skye, shoved at her, and she found herself in the middle of the back seat sandwiched between two sets of broad shoulders. She couldn't stop looking at Bucky, though.

"So, um, my name's Skye."

He smiled, slowly, and she couldn't help but think how gorgeous he was, even with the thick scruff of black beard and messy, choppily cut hair. "It's nice to meet you, Skye. I'm Bucky. And I guess I'm your soulmate."

Steve, in the front passenger seat, wrenched around violently. "_What_?"

Coulson, who was driving, nearly ran off the road. He steadied the car and looked in the mirror, trying to catch Skye's eyes, but she was staring at Bucky.

"I guess so."

Iron Man had swooped down to land as Brock was about to get in one of the cars. "Hop on. I'll give you a lift. Get you back to Jemma quickly."

"Thank you," Brock said, surprised. Stark wasn't exactly famous for being considerate of other people's feelings. Perhaps being on a permanent team had changed him, though. Constant exposure to Captain America tended to make one want to become a better person.

He couldn't restrain a whoop as Iron Man rocketed up into the air; it was a fantastic feeling. "Nice, Stark! You got any of these suits spare?"

Tony couldn't help but laugh. "From what I've heard, you're quite fucking dangerous enough without one!"

Jemma was biting her nails, a nervous habit she'd kicked when she was fourteen. She'd embraced Fitz and then rushed straight to the Bus's command centre, listening in on the operation, though there were no comms inside the building so she had no idea what Brock was doing. Finally, though, she heard Coulson's calm voice say;

"They're coming out. Rogers, Rumlow and Barnes are out. Skye is bringing down the building now."

Jemma snatched the comm microphone from Maria and screamed for Brock. She almost collapsed with relief when she heard his voice, amused and calm, had to sit down and put her head between her knees, concerned she might faint.

"Jemma, are you all right?" Maria's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Get her a glass of water, please, Fitz. Jemma?"

"Mmm." She blinked, saw the concerned face of the former Deputy Director as Maria knelt in front of her. "Sorry, Agent Hill, just felt a bit dizzy there for a minute."

"It's just Maria, Jemma, I'm not an agent any more. We're all friends here. Look, we haven't had the chance to check you over. Fitz can man the comms for a few minutes as it seems the op is pretty well over, why don't you come down to the med bay with me? I've got field medic training."

"I'm not injured," Jemma protested.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

Fitz turned up with the requested water then, and Maria made Jemma take a sip. Mack, lurking like a huge shadow, was recruited to carry her down to the med bay despite her protests, and so it was that she was lying on the bed submitting to having her blood pressure taken when Iron Man landed with a thump at the bottom of the ramp and Brock Rumlow hopped off his back.

"Thanks for the ride," Brock grinned back at Tony, striding off up the ramp. "Where is she?" he said, seeing Mack coming out through the lab.

"Med bay…" Mack regretted it instantly as Rumlow's swarthy face paled and he pushed past him quickly. "Hill's just checking her over!" he called, but wasn't sure the other man had heard.

"Jemma!" Brock burst into the med bay, eyes only for the woman lying on the bed. "Baby girl – you said you were all right!"

"I'm fine." She reached out to him, and Hill quietly and swiftly departed, deciding that they were most definitely best left alone in that moment.

Brock sat on the edge of the bed and gathered Jemma into his arms, uncaring of the blood and grime that clung to him. She didn't care either, nestling against him, pressing her face into the curve of his neck.

"Rollins is dead," he told her quietly, figuring she'd need to hear that first. "So is Bakshi. Neither of them will ever be able to hurt you again."

He felt her heave a soft sigh against his throat before she said quietly; "I'm glad. Bakshi was perhaps just – misguided in his beliefs, but Rollins…"

Brock closed his eyes with grief when she trailed off. "Oh, baby girl. I'm so sorry for what he did to you."

"He hardly touched me," Jemma said, a little surprised. "He obviously planned to, but he'd only had time to rip my shirt before Bucky smashed through the wall."

"I meant up at the cabin."

"Oh," Jemma realised, suddenly, that Rollins must have claimed that he raped her. "No! Brock, no, he didn't rape me, I promise. I think he wanted to, but he kind of freaked out once he got me inside – I think your scent was probably all over the place." She leaned back, reached up to put her hands on his stubbled cheeks. "He never touched me. I promise." His dark eyes were uncertain as he gazed back at her. "I _promise_. Brock I _would_ tell you, I swear!"

"I believe you." He tightened his hold on her, kissed her forehead. "It's just. His scent is on you. Barnes' too, on that shirt I can tell was his, but that's not invasive. I can tell Rollins tried to – to force himself on you."

"Yes he did, but it didn't work. He smelled _foul_," Jemma screwed up her face, remembering. "I kicked him in the nuts," she said proudly, neglecting to mention that Rollins had been very distracted by Bucky smashing through the wall at the time. It worked, though, to bring him out of his concerned state, because Brock laughed.

"Well done."

He didn't sound condescending, just proud of her for even _trying_ to fight back against an enhanced soldier. Jemma sighed contentedly and snuggled deeper into his arms.

Clattering and loud voices at the rear of the Bus announced the arrival of the others, and within a minute Coulson was there, coming in to check on Jemma. He looked at her snuggled into the safety of Brock's arms and shook his head with a wry smile.

"Well, look at you two. I don't think I could have believed it until I'd seen it." He hesitated, and then held out his hand. "I'm glad to have you on board, Agent Rumlow."

"Thank you, Director." Brock shook Coulson's hand with a smile.

"And Agent Simmons – Jemma – I'm very glad you're safe. Do you need any medical attention?"

Brock was glad Coulson didn't attempt to touch Jemma. His protective instincts were at full cry at that moment and he suspected he wouldn't have been able to restrain himself.

Jemma shook her head against Brock's chest. "No, thank you, sir. I'm fine."

"Well, I trust you to medically assess yourself. And Agent Rumlow to report on you if he determines that you _do_ need medical attention." Coulson caught Brock's eyes and grinned slightly. "We'll be wheels up in five. Can I suggest that once we are, you might wish to avail yourself of the bathroom facilities, Agent Rumlow?"

He looked down at himself and grimaced. He'd wiped the worst of the blood from Rollins off on the dead man's shirt, but there were still dried flakes of it on his hands and arms, more blood from other kills spattered on his clothes. He looked like something out of a horror movie.

"Yes, sir. Could someone come and sit with Jemma? Perhaps Agent Skye or Agent Carter?" he rather thought she might like a woman with her, for now.

"I'll see to it," Coulson nodded, but Jemma was shaking her head, clinging tighter to him.

"No. Don't leave me!"

Coulson met Brock's eyes again. "Use the bathroom in my office. It's bigger," was all he said before turning on his heel and walking out.

Brock cuddled Jemma close until he felt the plane taking off. No one came by to bother them, and he guessed Coulson was keeping them all away. "Come on then, baby girl," he murmured into her hair. "Let's find some clean clothes and get all washed up." _I need to get Rollins' stink off you_, he didn't say. _And get you out of Barnes' shirt before I go mad with jealousy_.

They walked up the stairs and through the main lounge, where most of the team were flaked out in varying degrees of collapse. Skye leaped up when she saw Jemma though, racing over to throw her arms around her. "I'm so glad you're all right," she whispered in her ear. "You're not going to _believe_ what's happened."

Jemma smiled wryly. "After the last week, I think my disbelief in a lot of things has been suspended."

"Yes, but I met my soulmate too!"

"What?" Jemma blinked, startled. "Who?" _Surely not_… she stared across the room to where Bucky was standing with Steve. Staring at them – no, at _Skye_, Jemma realised, even as Steve pelted him with questions. "Incidentally – why are the Avengers on the Bus?"

"It's Bucky Barnes, and you can blame _your_ soulmate for that."

Jemma turned her head to look up at Brock. He shrugged a bit sheepishly. "Couldn't get hold of Fury. So I called in the heavy artillery."

"I… see. Well actually I don't see, but I'm sure you can explain it all to me. Later."

He grinned and followed her as she sailed onwards, smiling politely and charmingly introducing herself to those she didn't know. "I'll give your shirt back in a bit," she told Bucky, who grinned.

"Keep it, doll. Looks better on you anyway." His blue eyes were still fixed on Skye, Jemma saw, and she shook her head fondly.

"You're going to have your hands full there, Bucky. Skye's a good friend but she's got issues." She lowered her voice. "Come see me later and I'll give you some tips."

Steve and Brock both had to smother chuckles as Bucky thanked her gravely. Jemma narrowed her eyes at them. "Come on then," she said to Brock. "Do you have clean clothes?"

"Sam packed me a tac bag," Brock agreed. "He's a similar size to me. Where'd you put it when you dumped me in the Cage, Steve?" he asked.

"Wait. _What?_ You put him in the _Cage_?" Jemma flared up in his defence suddenly, whipping around and poking Steve right in the middle of the star on his uniform. "How _dare_ you!"

"Um," Steve looked down at the small woman confronting him absolutely fearlessly. A helpless grin slid across his face. "You know, Rumlow, I can totally see why she's your soulmate."

They were _laughing_ at her. Jemma scowled, and then Brock's huge hand wrapped firmly around her bicep and he led her away, chuckling under his breath. "You can tell Captain America off on my behalf later, my love."

"Your tac bag's in my office," Coulson murmured quietly as they passed, and Brock gave him a polite nod and a muttered thank-you in response.

They stopped at Jemma's cubicle where she still kept a minimal wardrobe, for her to get some clean clothes, and then headed up to Coulson's office, locking the door and going into the bathroom – which was much more generous than the one downstairs the rest of them shared, Jemma noticed. Well, he _was_ the boss. She sighed and pulled off her top, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be clean again.

Brock watched as Jemma discarded her clothes and scrambled into the shower, looking her over carefully for bruises or marks, but there was nothing. Even the bruises he'd put on her had faded almost completely; there was only the bite mark on her thigh and the hickey on her neck, and they were now a yellowish-green. Otherwise, there wasn't a mark on her.

"Well," Jemma turned her head to find him watching her, still fully dressed. "Get in here. What are you waiting for?"

He grinned and unfastened his weapons harness. "An invitation, baby girl. You just delivered it."

**So, yeah, Bucky and Skye happened. Sorry to those of you who wanted to see her with Steve, but I already wrote that in **_**Truth In A Bottle**_** – and those who voted for that were very evenly split between Steve and Bucky, so I'm just making the other side happy ;)**

**That said, I'm not really going to be developing that romance in this story. Because it's nearly finished *sniff*.**

**Although not until after some more Rumlow smut – yes, you guess it, that was a smuthanger…**


	25. I Knew You'd Come For Me

**Chapter Twenty-Five – I Knew You'd Come For Me**

_Bon Jovi – I'll Be There For You_

Brock stripped out of his filthy clothes, dumping them atop Jemma's. He'd deal with the lot later. Right now he just wanted to get under that warm water spray with her, wash them both clean of the horrors they'd been through. Get rid of any lingering traces of Rollins' scent on her.

Jemma moved over as Brock joined her in the shower stall. It was bigger than the one at the cabin, but not by all that much, and his broad shoulders still took up much of the space. He didn't let her go far, though, catching her around the waist and dragging her against him. She lifted her hands, set them on his shoulders and smiled up at him.

"I knew you'd come for me, you know," she told him softly.

"I only wish I could have gotten there sooner," Brock murmured, stroking her back tenderly. Neither of them noticed that the water ran pink as the blood rinsed off his hands. "Jemma – I want to complete the bond. If we'd completed it before, I'd have known where to find you, I'd have been after you so damn fast…"

"Yes," was all she said, before standing on tiptoe and reaching up to kiss him.

"But…"

"Don't try and argue me out of it," she cut him off firmly. "You want this, I want this – I don't want to ever be without you again, Brock. Not ever." Her hazel eyes were vulnerable as she gazed up at him, and as usual he realised he could deny her nothing. Especially not when one of her hands slipped down between them and wrapped around his rapidly stiffening cock.

He could only stand that for a few moments before pulling free of her hands and grasping them with his own. "None of that right now, Jemma. Here, let's get cleaned up." He released one of her hands, reached for the shower gel, let out a grunt as her hand went straight back to his arousal. "Jemma!"

She grinned teasingly up at him. "Am I being a bad girl again, Brock?"

"Always. Nnnggaahh," he let out a strangled sound, pulled her hand off him again and spun her around quickly, one powerful arm tightening around her waist. "My very, very bad girl," he whispered hotly in her ear, and Jemma shuddered and went limp against him, her head falling back against his shoulder.

"Brock," she moaned throatily and he smiled, nipping lightly at her neck.

"That's it. Be good for me. Gonna take care of you, baby girl – wash you all clean and give you everything you need." He poured soap into his hand, lathered it up and began to stroke it into her body slowly, thoroughly washing every trace of scent but his own off her. She gasped and spread her legs when he stroked slowly up her inner thighs, and he smiled, turned her around and knelt before her.

"Put your leg over my shoulder, Jemma," he ordered softly, and she obeyed, moaning his name again as he pressed his face against her, stroking her clit with his tongue and suckling on it until she was shuddering, her fingers clenching convulsively in his hair.

His scent was rising around her, muted by the falling water, but it still maddened Jemma to the point where she could think of nothing but Brock, of having him inside her.

"Please," she whimpered, trying to pull his head back. "Please, Brock, need you to fuck me, need you so badly. Please."

She felt him smile against her and then he eased her leg off his shoulder and stood up, grasping her bottom in his big hands and lifting her easily, pushing her back against the wall as he entered her. She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, and as he slid slowly in they both gasped, because as the mark on her leg met the mark on his ass the sensation was indescribable.

He could _feel_ her. She was right _there_, deep in his mind, her pleasure his own as he slid home, deep inside her welcoming heat, pinning her slight body up against the shower wall. And then she raked her nails down his back and he cried out, arching to pump deeper still.

"Brock!" Jemma almost screamed his name as he sped up, pushing her hard and fast up towards orgasm, her slight weight nothing to his strength as he handled her body easily, tilting her back to get the best angle, rubbing the tip of his cock over her G-spot with every long stroke. She could _feel_ his building ecstasy, the passionate love he felt for her – she'd know it even without the bond, the look of devotion on his face as he made love to her was so intense.

"Yes, oh God, Jemma, yes," Brock gritted out. It was like the most incredible, intense feedback loop – her building ecstasy fed his own, and vice versa. He was so close, but so was she, he could tell – and then she clenched around him like a tight, wet silken fist and he was gone, utterly destroyed as her climax triggered his own. He took her mouth in a greedy, fierce kiss, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he came so hard he thought his brain might explode.

Jemma's cries were like the sweetest music in his ears, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she clung to him, breasts pressed against his chest, slight shudders wracking her body as she rode out the rolling waves of orgasm.

At last he lifted her off him, lowered her to her feet and held her while she steadied her shaking knees. "Better get out of this shower," he murmured at last, "I'm sure we've used more than our quota of hot water."

Jemma smiled, rinsed herself quickly. "Well, we did double up."

Brock laughed, shutting off the water. "That we did, baby girl." It was the oddest sensation. He could _feel_ her satisfaction; it was like there was a small, previously unused corner of his mind that she'd taken over. Even if they were apart, he realised he'd know how she was feeling. He reached for a towel, wrapped it tenderly around her – and almost staggered as the wave of love she felt for him hit him.

"Brock?" Jemma said a little uncertainly. He looked so shocked, and that tiny part of her brain where she could feel him now – and wasn't that _interesting_, was there actually a part of the brain that had been shown to produce different signals when a soulbond was created? She'd have to read up on it – could tell that he was shocked, surprised and a little awed.

"You love me," he said, absolutely stunned.

"Well, yes, of course I do." She cocked her head at him. "Did you doubt it? You _did_ doubt it, oh _Brock_," She reached out and wrapped her arms around his waist, felt his come around her in a tight hug. "It's not just about the soulbond, for me," she whispered softly. "I've been falling in love with you from the very first moment, I think. When it hurt you so to bruise me, to even _pretend_ to hurt me. I could see that you hated every minute of it, because it wasn't done to please me."

He pressed his face against her hair. "I don't deserve you."

"Tough, you're stuck with me now," she said pithily.

"I really think you've got that backwards, beautiful girl." He kissed her forehead, reached for a towel for himself. "Come on, we've probably defiled Coulson's quarters quite enough. Let's get decent and go downstairs to that cupboard of a room of yours so I can ravish you some more."

"Oh, I am very much on board with that idea," Jemma said enthusiastically, reaching for her clothes.

"Hmmm." He watched her dress, unable to concentrate on anything else with her in front of him like that, sliding thin silky pink panties up her slender legs and then putting on a matching bra. "I am the luckiest bastard on the planet."

Jemma looked around, saw him watching her. He was gorgeous, all thick muscle and olive skin, crisp black hair on his chest tapering to a fine happy trail down the centre of his six-pack. Black hair sleek with water, he looked darkly dangerous – and utterly sexy. She licked her lips.

"You need to stop looking at me like that or I'm gonna be bending you over that couch," he said gruffly. And then had to grit his teeth against the awareness that she very much liked that idea, even though she blushed and looked away.

"Okay, we really need to get this under control," he muttered, "because if you're thinkin' that way, baby girl, it's gonna be really hard for me to restrain myself."

Jemma pulled her trousers up, not looking at him. "It's very hard for me _not_ to think that way with you standing there all muscly and gorgeous."

He grinned, grabbing a shirt and pulling it over his head. "I like the way you see me, baby girl."

"Seriously?" buttoning her blouse, she turned to look at him, shaking her head. "You're the kind of guy who women are always going to look at."

Brock snorted. "Jemma, surely it's more than obvious by now that you've got no reason to be jealous?"

She ducked her head, feeling a bit foolish. He came over, buttoning his pants, took her shoulders in his hands, and told her the truth.

"I love you. I'd have fallen in love with you even if we weren't soulmates, as if I'd ever have had even the slightest chance with you…"

She looked up at him with a radiant smile. "Oh, you'd have had a chance. Remember that day at the Hub? I _wanted_ you to come after me."

Brock slid a hand into her hair at the nape of her neck, tipped her head back and took her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss. Jemma's hands slid up his chest, wound around his neck.

"I love you," she whispered back to him between kisses, and he chuckled softly in his throat.

"Let's get out of here and you can show me how much."

She smiled and reluctantly let go, watched as he scooped their filthy clothes off the bathroom floor and stuffed them into his tac bag.

"Can't leave those there for Coulson to find, I'll get rid of them later," he murmured, and then offered Jemma his hand. She slipped hers into it gladly.

They found Natasha waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. She inclined her head slightly to Jemma before meeting Rumlow's eyes.

"I take it we're not going to have the same issue should such a situation ever recur?" she said, a little obliquely, but Brock could guess well enough what she meant.

"It _won't_ recur." His hand tightened on Jemma's. "But no. It wouldn't be an issue."

"Good." Natasha gave him a half-smile, slid her eyes over Jemma again. "Good luck to you both," she said quietly, sincerely. "It's not always easy, but it's always worth it." She looked over her shoulder to where Clint was perched on the back of a couch, talking to Sam and Fitz. He seemed to sense her glance, looked up and smiled at her.

"I know you two often have to be apart," Brock said impulsively, "how the hell do you manage?" He tapped his head, trying to get his meaning across. _How do you manage the feelings that come through the bond, when surely separation creates so much sorrow?_

Natasha smiled a little sadly. "You just have to have faith. This," she tapped her head too, "it does get a little easier, with time. Becomes more like background noise, as you get used to it, though it's almost impossible to tune out completely." She grinned wickedly. "There are reasons why there are special allowances for soulmates in the weeks after forming a new bond, though. Believe me, none of us expect much sense out of either of you for about a month."

Jemma blushed, tried to hide her face behind Brock's arm. He only grinned and wrapped his arm around her. "Then you'll excuse us if we don't join the company."

"No one expects you to." Natasha chucked softly as he pulled Jemma away towards the cubicles.

Only Fitz looked a little wistful as he saw them go. But the expression on Jemma's face as she looked up at her soulmate was so blissfully happy, he could never begrudge the best friend he'd ever had that joy. He sighed, finally letting go of the hope he'd held for so long that she might return his feelings for her. He'd known all along that she had a soulmark, of course, he'd just thought that if she never met her other half – well, it was time to put all that behind him. He smiled with an effort as Sam Wilson asked him a question about the invisibility cloaking mechanism on the Bus and the quinjets.

"It's probably too big to scale down to your wings. Though it's a very interesting idea."

Coulson nodded to himself, watching Fitz. That had been a potential complication, but Fitz was smart, and resilient. He obviously recognised that trying to compete with Rumlow in any way for Jemma's affections was a lost cause.

With a rather relieved sigh, he glanced across the lounge – to where Hunter was watching Tony flirt with Bobbi with an angry look on his face. _Oh dear. Better go break that up before Hunter starts something._ He spotted, too, Skye and Bucky staring at each other. _And wasn't THAT going to be a complication_. Well, at least it would give Skye one person who cared about her unconditionally. And someone who was dangerous enough to deal with her father and Ward when they came looking for her – as they surely would.

Coulson found a smile coming to his lips as he realised he was quite looking forward to that confrontation. Skye was no longer the lost, vulnerable girl she'd been just a few short months ago. She was a force to be reckoned with now, confident in her power. And with the Winter Soldier by her side – she might just be unstoppable.


	26. So Damn Lucky

**Chapter Twenty-Six- So Damn Lucky**

_Bonnie Tyler – Total Eclipse Of The Heart_

The door had barely slid closed behind them before Brock was dumping the kit bag on the floor and reaching out to pull Jemma into his arms. In the confined space of the cubicle she couldn't exactly have escaped him anyway, but she laughed softly and came willingly, smiling up at him, her eyes shining.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he muttered gruffly, running one hand into her hair and tilting her head up to give her a long, deep kiss, his tongue sliding erotically into her mouth, playing a slow, teasing game with hers.

He was gripping her hair just hard enough to make Jemma feel weak at the knees. She slid her arms around his lean waist, holding on for support as he guided her backwards until the back of her knees bumped the bed. His eyes were gleaming darkly as he lifted his head and looked down at her, her eyes closed, lips parted and wet, swollen and red.

"Do you have more clothes here?" he asked thickly.

"Hmm?" Jemma blinked vaguely. "Uh – yes, a couple of things, why?"

"Because I've been dreaming about doing this." He let go of her hair – and ripped her shirt clean in two down the front.

Jemma couldn't help a small squeal. Brock shoved her down on the bed and reached for her trousers, popping the button off and yanking them down.

"Brock, you're wrecking my stuff!" she said indignantly.

"I'll buy you more." He gazed at her, clad only in the pretty pink silk underthings he'd lustfully watched her slide on only a few minutes earlier. "You can keep these, though." His voice was even lower and huskier. "If you can get them off in the next ten seconds."

Jemma wasted no time. Neither did he, stripping off his clothes swiftly and tossing them aside. And then he was kneeling over her, darkly beautiful and oh so dangerous, his eyes hot. And that _scent_ started pouring off him again, driving Jemma mad with need.

"Please," she whimpered, trying to part her legs, but there was no room between his body and the wall of the cubicle. "Brock, please, I need you." She looked down along the line of his body, past the huge pectoral muscles and chiselled abs, saw his cock standing proudly erect. Licked her lips.

"Ah, God, you've got such a beautiful mouth," Brock muttered. "You want me in your mouth, baby girl?" He could _feel_ her hunger for him, it was a heady rush that only increased his own ardour.

"Yes," Jemma agreed, staring still, licking her lips again as he curled a casual hand around the thick length and jerked a couple of times. "Please. Want you to fuck my mouth." She slid her eyes up to his, and whispered, "Sir." She smiled slightly as she sensed his need for her increase still further, could tell how very much he liked the idea.

"Shit, Jemma," he half-laughed, shaking his head. "I couldn't fucking say no to anything you ask when you look at me like that!" Shifting on the bed, he pulled her lower down. "Here. Bend your knees up, put your feet on the wall. I'm gonna lick you out while you suck on me." And he knelt astride her head, his dark head dipping down between her thighs.

"Mm," Jemma reached up and wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, directing his tip to her mouth. She licked first, once, a long slow circuit all around the swollen head. And then moaned as he mirrored the move with a slow swipe of his tongue circling her clit.

Brock wasn't going to stop there, of course. He leaned on his elbows, curved an arm around Jemma's ass and brought his hand to the party, sliding a thick finger slowly into Jemma's tight, slick passage. She moaned again around his cock and took him deeper into her mouth; he rewarded her with a nibble on her clit and another finger pressed in below the first, scissoring lightly to stretch her open before hooking up to pass lightly over that tender bundle of nerves inside her walls. She squirmed and gasped around his cock in her mouth; he swatted lightly on her ass with his free hand.

Jemma couldn't concentrate, not with what Brock was doing with his mouth and hands. She tried, but she couldn't get a rhythm going, couldn't get enough breath. And then he laughed softly against her and pulled off.

"Feels real good, baby girl, but I'm gonna fuck you now." He turned around, bending to nip and suckle at her breasts as he moved her again, lifting her up the bed until her head rested on the pillow. She opened her arms to him trustingly as he knelt between her thighs, and he shook his head again wonderingly.

"So damn lucky."

"Shut up and put that mouth of yours to good use," Jemma demanded. He arched a dark eyebrow.

"There's my demanding little madam again. How do you want me to use it? Here?" he licked lightly at her nipple, knowing very well it wouldn't be enough stimulation for her. So he brought his hand up and pinched it firmly immediately after.

"Ah, yeah! Bite," Jemma begged, putting her hands to his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. "Bite me. Please. Want your marks on me, they're all gone…" and she mourned their fading. She _wanted_ his marks on her, his brands of possession. Wanted the pleasure-pain of the bruises forming even as he brought her to ecstasy.

He sucked a hickey into her breast as he worked his way slowly inside her, taking it slow because she was swollen and tight. She was moaning and thrashing by the time he was fully seated inside her, and then he caught her hips in his big hands and sat back on his haunches, drawing her into his lap, pulling her upright so they were face to face. She wrapped her legs around him and they both sighed as they _felt_ the soulmarks touch again, like a phantom caress along the bond between them.

Jemma slid her arms around his strong neck, ran her fingers into his thick, black hair. One of his muscled arms curved up her back, bracing her, the other stayed under her hip as he began to thrust, powerful leg muscles shoving him hard inside her with every movement, her nipples chafing against his crisp chest hair.

"Brock," she whimpered, her head falling back, and he swooped in, sucking hard and biting at her throat just above her collarbone. "Oh yes, God, yes please don't stop oooohhhhhh," he thrust faster, bit down harder as he felt sleek muscles begin to clamp around him.

Jemma cried out, a low, elongated wail of his name, her slender body stiffening and tremoring in his grasp, and Brock let out a throaty snarl, gritting his teeth. He waited out the rippling, seductive grasp of her climax, and then lifted her off him, lowering her gently to the bed, turning her over and urging her up to her hands and knees.

"This okay, baby girl?" He leaned over her back, reaching around her to cup her breasts in his big hands, squeeze and roll her nipples in his fingers.

"Oh God yes," Jemma moaned, trying to push back against him. "Brock, please."

"Fuckin' love how you always say my name, baby girl." He pulled her back against him, sucked on her shoulder as he eased back inside again. "That's it," as she writhed against him. "You want this, don't you? Want me to fuck you so hard you can't remember your own name."

She only let out a pleading little sob, her head rolling back against his shoulder as he slowly plunged deep. She couldn't keep her eyes open, could hardly breathe with how full he made her feel. The strength of his hands holding her grounded her, steadied her, helped her take a slow deep breath when he stopped moving for a moment.

Jemma was pliant beneath him, soft and yielding. Utterly, perfectly _his_. Brock pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades, guided her to place her hands under the pillow and her head down on it. Braced her knees and tilted her hips back so he had the perfect angle to fuck her as deep as he could get. And then he clamped his hands on her hips, holding firmly.

"You ready, Jemma?"

She rolled her hips against him with a whine in her throat, and he smiled hungrily and began to thrust, long, deep strokes, withdrawing almost completely before _slamming_ back in, accelerating steadily until he was pistoning into Jemma hard and fast, listening to her cries increase in tempo and volume. Feeling her ecstasy increase until her mind was filled with nothing but _him_ and the way he was making her feel.

It felt _so_ good. Brock knew just how rough to be with her to make her go mad. Jemma could feel herself rising helplessly towards orgasm again as he pumped deep inside her, rubbing perfectly over her G-spot with each long, rough stroke. She was most definitely going to get off again in short order if he kept doing _that_… he let out a groan and his hands clenched just a fraction tighter.

Jemma could feel him, in the back of her mind, could tell that what he was doing felt just as wonderful to him as it did to her. The love, the wondering adoration, he felt for her was a heady rush that made her feel drunken with bliss.

Her pleasure fed his own, he could feel how close she was, how good this felt to her. Ecstasy coiled at the base of his spine and he groaned, trying to hold back, but he couldn't… "Jemma, _now_!" he begged frantically. And his beautiful girl responded, her back bowing as she cried out, rippling muscles tightening around him in a hot wet clamp that wrung him dry of every last drop.

They collapsed to the bed together, panting, blind and deaf to everything but each other. Jemma clung to Brock, uncaring of his seed sticky on her thighs. It was just another mark of his possession of her, and she welcomed it just as she welcomed the bruises on her breast and throat, the fingerprint marks on her hips.

"My beautiful girl," he murmured softly, stroking her hair.

"Yours," she agreed contentedly, pressing her lips to his chest, and felt his joy in her increase still further. They were smiling at each other like loons, she realised, and couldn't bring herself to care. He tightened his arms around her, stroked her back gently, and they lay there in utter, blissful contentment until they felt the plane begin to descend.

Brock sighed reluctantly. "I guess we'd better get dressed."

"Mm-hm," Jemma agreed, making absolutely no move to get up. Then something occurred to her. "My bed at the base is a lot bigger and more comfortable than this one."

"That sounds wonderful," Brock grinned in anticipation. "Can't wait to try it out." His arms tightened around her briefly, and then he murmured, "Maybe I can tie you down to it. Take my time exploring every inch of your gorgeous body."

He could tell how very much she liked that idea, would have known even if he hadn't been able to feel her excitement in the back of his mind, by the way she wiggled sensuously against him and reached up for a kiss. And then she moved back, trying to pull free of his hold.

"Well, let me up then," Jemma said. "I need to find something else to wear!"

Brock grinned as she gave him a reproachful look. "I'm not at all sorry."

"I know you're not, you barbarian. Let me up!"

He rolled her beneath him first, pinning her down with his body, kissed her until she was gasping and writhing under him. And then he lifted his head and traced his finger lightly down her cheek, grimacing slightly at the redness on her chin and upper lip where his beard had rasped her. First job would be to find a razor before her tender skin was rubbed raw.

"I love you," he said quietly, sincerely, looking into her eyes.

She smiled up at him, a smile of such wonder it pierced him to the heart. "I love you too, Brock."

**All together now: AWWWW!**

**Well, this was the last proper chapter. Just an Epilogue left to go… tying off a few of those loose ends!**

**There has been so much begging and pleading that I am considering a few bonus chapters looking at Skye and Bucky's romance. There won't be a full-on sequel though, and those chapters may be a week or two away, but stay tuned. I haven't abandoned this AU yet.**


	27. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Powderfinger – (Baby I Got You) On My Mind_

May landed the Bus at the Playground with her usual deft touch, steering it carefully into the hangar. Where a tall, dark figure in a black leather coat was waiting, arms folded across his chest.

"What the _fuck_ have you motherfuckers been doing? Can I not take my eye off you lot for five _fucking_ minutes?" Nick Fury bellowed as they headed down the ramp.

"It's been nine months," Coulson said mildly.

"If you answered your email once in a while, we'd have invited you to the party," Rumlow said, a bit less mildly.

"And _you_! Seriously, you instigated this clusterfuck! And the rest of you went along with it? I _trusted_ you, Rumlow, I needed your eyes in HYDRA…" He blinked as Jemma broke free of Brock's arm, strode up and poked him hard in the chest. He stared down at her incredulously.

"The words you are looking for, _Mister_ Fury, are _thank you_! Nineteen years of his _life_ Brock has given to your cause! Well, I say _enough_! He might have been your man in HYDRA, but now he's _mine_."

There was absolute silence in the big hangar as Nick Fury stared down at Jemma. And then he lifted his head and looked at Rumlow.

"I totally see how she's your soulmate."

The debriefings went on for days. Coulson considerately excused Jemma and Brock for as much as possible, though Brock had to sit down with Coulson, May, Fury, Maria and Steve and detail everything on HYDRA's current operations he hadn't already reported. Finally Jemma was called in with him and asked to go through what had happened, from her point of view.

She had to start with the embarrassing fact of getting kidnapped while on the grocery run. May groaned and put her head in her hands when Jemma admitted that she, Skye and Fitz – the three junior team members who generally did the shopping – had got into a routine. Fury just shook his head disgustedly and Brock's hand tightened on Jemma's under the table.

"One of the first things I'd like to do, with your permission, Director," he said to Coulson, "is to fully review all of the Playground's security measures and procedures. To make sure such a thing can't happen again."

"Granted," Coulson said immediately.

"No one should be going out alone anyway, especially not one of the support staff. Non-field agents!" Rumlow corrected quickly as he felt Jemma turn her head to give him a glare. "First thing I'd implement is that everyone goes out in pairs, with at least one of each pair to be an active field agent."

Coulson nodded again. "I'll defer to your judgement, Rumlow. We've been – somewhat distracted, partly due to our short-handedness, but that's no excuse for putting our agents at risk. Almost losing Jemma has been an enormous shock." He leant forward, putting his hands on the table and looking Rumlow in the eye. "I can't say that I wasn't horrified at first to find out about you, but please don't think for a minute that we're not extremely thankful that you pulled her out of there. I'm very glad she found you."

"Humph," Fury muttered. He was still sore about losing Rumlow inside HYDRA, though the information he had brought out with him – on a flash drive he'd secreted in his boot heel – information that had been too sensitive to share before, that would have utterly compromised him – really did make up for the loss. With that information, they could strike some huge blows against HYDRA, especially with the Avengers willing to help out.

Jemma gave Fury a Look. "I daresay _you'd_ have preferred he just shot me and carried on, Mr Fury." She refused to call him Director. He'd given that title up to Coulson. And he'd taken too long to come through for Brock, forcing him into a difficult and dangerous course of action by reaching out to the Avengers.

Fury sighed. "No, Dr Simmons. I understand you're invaluable to SHIELD, or so Phil tells me. I daresay if I'd been in Rumlow's place, I'd have done exactly the same thing. That said, I hope you won't begrudge me at least a little regret at the loss of the best asset I ever had?"

"You didn't lose me, sir," Brock said quietly. "I'm still SHIELD. If Director Coulson will have me, that is."

"If he doesn't," Steve spoke up unexpectedly, "there's a place for you with the Avengers. We could use someone with your tactical skills – and your fighting abilities."

Surprised, Brock nodded to Steve. "Thank you. But where Jemma goes, I go."

"There would be a place for you with Stark Industries," Maria suggested to Jemma.

"Stop trying to poach my people," Phil said firmly. "They're SHIELD for as long as they want to be."

"Which brings up another issue," Steve said, studying his hands. "Bucky has expressed a wish to stay with SHIELD also. Partly because of Agent Skye, but partly because he trusts Rumlow. I – don't think he'll trust easily. And he's not ready to deal with the Avengers and all the media circus at the Tower, and that follows us everywhere. I don't know that he ever will be."

There was silence for a moment as they all looked at Steve, acknowledging that he'd never have his friend back, not all the way back as he once had been.

"He's welcome here," Coulson said finally. "He always will be. We won't force him into the fight before he's ready, either."

Rumlow snorted under his breath, shared a glance with Steve. "Good luck keeping Barnes _out_ of the fight. He's got about a million bones to pick with HYDRA."

"Join the club," Jemma said tartly, which made Brock grin and most of the other people around the table stifle a laugh.

"I'll take care of your share, baby girl," Brock murmured quietly in her ear.

"I'll deal with my own enemies, thank you very much."

He grinned and kissed her cheek, uncaring of the others watching. "I know you will."

She turned her head and smiled at him. They stared into each other's eyes, oblivious to the other people in the room.

"Oh, _no_," Coulson said wearily. "It's Barton and Romanoff all over again. Could we at _least_ finish the briefing?"

Brock rose to his feet, pulling Jemma up with him. "Argue amongst yourselves for a bit. We'll be back in a while."

The door slammed behind them. Coulson only sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking around at the incredulous expressions of the other people in the room. "_Bloody_ soulmates. And now I've got _two_ pairs to manage. We'll be lucky to _ever_ get any work done."

It was Nick Fury who started to chuckle first, rustily, as though it had been a long time since he laughed, but it was infectious and soon the rest of them had joined in, leaning back in their chairs and almost howling with laughter.

Jemma and Brock, hurrying down the corridor towards the accommodation wing, heard the laughter.

"They're totally laughing at us," Jemma said, out of breath trying to keep up with his longer strides.

"Do you care? Because I don't." He scooped her up, slinging her over his shoulder.

"Put me down, you caveman!"

"Nope." He slapped her bottom. "You weren't moving quick enough to suit me."

"Brock!" she reached down and pinched his ass, which only made him laugh. And then he slid his hand up between her thighs and Jemma squeaked, suddenly realising that wearing a skirt today was possibly a very bad idea. "Brock, stop it! What if someone sees?"

"Sees what, that I want you so bad I don't give a fuck who knows it?" They'd reached her room and he opened the door, kicking it shut behind him and laying her down on the bed.

Jemma looked up at him, stripping his shirt off over his head, and marvelled again that this man, this magnificent man, should be her soulmate. He'd just about gained control over his pheromone emission for the most part, but she could smell that delicious scent rising again. "Come here and kiss me, you gorgeous beast," she held her arms out demandingly.

"Demanding little madam."

"Impossible, bossy man."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

**THE END**

**WELL.**

**So – who can hardly wait for the next Captain America movie to get their Rumlow fix, then?**

**In the meantime, if you didn't check out Frank Grillo's DirectTV series **_**Kingdom**_**, you really should. There is enough Grillo hotness in that to make anyone's knees go weak. He is also starring in a sci-fi flick which just finished filming, **_**Beyond Skyline**_** (also featuring Callan Mulvey (Rollins)), and if you didn't see The Purge (Anarchy) yet then you should because WHOAH.**

**Many of the images used in this fic on Ao3 were screencapped by me from **_**Kingdom**_**. And I had lots of them left over, most of which I've shared on my tumbler (ozhawkauthor if you didn't know) so check it out for extra bonus Grillo hotness. You can also follow me there for updates on what I might be writing next, insane plot bunnies, bonus headcanon snippets and more. Plus regular swooning over hot guys from the MCU, good and bad.**

**Brock Rumlow is way too neglected as a fanfic character, in my opinion. I've used him as a convenient generic bad guy myself (in **_**Truth In A Bottle**_**) though the way I wrote his character there actually partly inspired this! Generally if he features strongly he's written doing nasty slashy sex things to Bucky and/or Steve, which is totally not the way I see him, but then I don't write slash so that might have something to do with it.**

**I'll definitely be writing more Rumlow porn myself, and soon. But if this has inspired you and you decide to write some Rumlow fic (hopefully porny) of your own, please let me know – and tag it Rumlow porn on Ao3 for all us poor souls who need our Brock fix!**

**Be seeing you all reading and commenting again soon, I hope, and making you fall for yet another unlikely pairing – until then, all the best.**

**ozhawk, February 2015**

**(PS check out the next chapter for a teaser for my next fic… and yes, there will be some Skye/Bucky chapters coming soon…)**


	28. Upcoming Attractions

**Upcoming attractions…**

**Well, apart from regular Soulmate Shorts – I still have over 50 on the to-write list and people keep sending me more suggestions – I have a few things under plan. But the next fic which will start to be posted, I'm 15,000 words into writing and should start to put up a chapter every couple of days or so sometime in the next week. Here's a sneak peak with a few extracts from a fic I'm calling **_**Stockholm Syndrome Works Both Ways**_**…**

Grant Ward couldn't look into Brock Rumlow's golden eyes. Not for long. He'd known the other man before SHIELD fell, not well – Rumlow had kicked his ass on the training mats as a rookie recruit a few times, and Garrett had spoken highly of him – but this Rumlow was a very different animal.

Ward shuddered as he thought of just how appropriate that analogy was. He'd heard how badly Rumlow had been injured in the Triskelion wreckage. He'd been barely alive when Whitehall got hold of him. A perfect, expendable subject for Whitehall's experiments. And then the Doctor had joined in, added further modifications.

Somehow, Ward didn't think there were going to be many volunteers for the process which had transformed Rumlow into something other than entirely human. Not considering the side effects.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Skye woke slowly, blinking her eyes open. Staring up at the ceiling in confusion. It was rough wooden planks, not the plain white paint of her room at the Playground, nor the smooth grey panels of the Bus.

_Where the fuck am I?_

Her arms were flung up beside her head and a little numb; she tried to bring them down and to her horror heard a clink of chain. She thrashed, twisting, and screamed when she realised that she was chained to a bed, heavy shackles around both wrists and ankles.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Kill me and you won't last a week," Rumlow warned softly. "Destroy the cabin and I might be able to keep you alive a little longer, but I can't swear to it."

She just stood there, her small fists clenched, dark eyes full of impotent rage. And then she leapt down the porch steps and took off running towards the trees, a helpless sob bursting out of her.

He stood there, calmly leaning on the porch rail, and watched as a few trees took the brunt of her wrath.

It was almost an hour later when she came walking back towards the cabin and stood at the foot of the porch steps looking up at him.

"What are you going to do with me?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Rumlow headed into the kitchen, and she twisted around on the couch to watch him go. "I don't get paid if I don't deliver you 'untouched' as your boyfriend put it," he called back. "So keep your hands to yourself, princess."

"Oh!" she was so outraged, she didn't know who she wanted to hit more. Rumlow for even thinking that she might want to – with _him_ – or Ward for being – well, just fucking _Ward_. She settled for punching a cushion on the couch with her unhurt hand.

"You _asshole_," she settled for saying as he came back into the room. Got even angrier when he just chuckled. "I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last man on earth!"

Rumlow's golden eyes raked over her, and then he smirked. "You're not my type anyway, princess."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He shut his eyes. _Stop it. You have to stop. You can't have her anyway, even if she was willing. She's not yours_. The thought of Ward and Skye together made him bare his teeth, though, hackles rising on the back of his neck. The thought of just meekly handing Skye over to Ward was getting more unpalatable by the minute. She clearly didn't love Ward, obviously genuinely despised him. The bastard would break her spirit, Rumlow thought, and clenched his jaw at the thought of Skye subjected to the kind of abuse he suspected Ward would deal out.

She needed gentle handling. Soft touches, light caresses until she was ready for more, until her pliant body arched up into his touch.

Rumlow wasn't even aware that his hand was on his hardening cock through his cargo pants.

He'd use the shackles, chain her down to the bed and explore every inch of her skin with his lips and tongue, take his time with her until she was writhing and begging for him to take her. He'd gaze into those exotic dark eyes as he sheathed himself deep in her welcoming heat – perhaps she'd whisper his name…

"_Shit_."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Will it make it any easier for you to hate me if I tell you that I still want to kiss you?" Rumlow offered when they couldn't quite stop staring at each other.

"Unfortunately not." _Because now I know how you kiss I want a whole lot more_…

"Shit." He couldn't stop looking at her, devouring her with his eyes. Her lips were still a little swollen, he hadn't been gentle when he kissed her – but then she'd given back as good as she got. "_Skye_." His voice was a low, throaty growl.

**Hope that whetted your appetite for more! And yes, this is the were-Brock fic. All the begging got to me in the end and I decided to incorporate it into the kidnapping story I'd already had the idea for. Subscribe to me as an author to make sure you're notified as soon as it's posted!**


End file.
